As I Walk Through My City

DISCLAIMER: I wrote the following one morning as I walked through the city. The following is free form writing meaning I wrote the first thing that came to my mind. Before commenting, I want you to consider that we are all judgmental. Hence why I didn’t censor the following. This is what I felt, saw, smelled, and heard as I walked through my city. Thank you. 

Her feet weren’t happy with the shoes she wore today. I wonder how many people told her that haircut is awesome when it’s the complete opposite. She doesn’t care about your jazz recital she just seems obligated to seem surprised to keep you happy. I wonder if he hates everybody around him right now, especially while he’s in his bus driving uniform. What do these people do? They seem to be heading somewhere but I never know where. They live in the city so their job must pay well. I want to sleep but the doors on my side are opening and this car can barley hold enough people. Foreign student seems intrigued by the five major food groups, I wonder which education system chewed up her parents college funds for the basic things you can find on Google. Do they get paid to walk in the city? Talk in the city. Starbucks coffee or perhaps a skim milk latte, she referred to it most likely as a skinny latte to the cashier. What is that? Skinny lattes. Does it need to be called skinny opposed to the type of milk they want? Does the milk jug ever say Skinny Milk. I can ask any of these people what they do for a living and I’m honest to god I won’t understand a single thing they say. These people seem a desire to seem like a magazine cover. Like this one lady with her puppy, her designer purse and a wooven purse. Cellphone on speaker in one hand and shades on a day where there isn’t even sunlight. Perhaps a rich ancestor? But even with that wealth they don’t travel as much. There’s two types of people here, those who are swiping photos of girls and guys and the other who are swiping Pokemon balls. Can’t forget the joggers.

Casually take out my phone and stand aside to let the people leave on the opposite side of my platform. Really, I just needed to breathe. The body odor mixed with somebody’s vanilla scented lotion. I felt like throwing up. When I walk down the sidewalk I try my best not to think what each stain consists of. I imagine a cold cup of coffee, dog piss, vomit, a month old bowl of noodles. Are they all tourists? He might have a plan with those milk crates. His daily routine might be collecting plastic bottles for change but at least he had the audacity to pick up some container to hold them. My friend would tell me all these people are extra. My sister says I should follow one and see where they go. I’m only here to get currency exchanged. The idea of running away dawns on me. Those joggers with repulsive vibrant shirts scream for attention. It’s depressing thinking people find love here. I wonder the amount of tolerance these people have talking to their partners. She says she’s going to yoga and he says he’s going to jog. They come home but where does the money come from? Poor Surrey Metro cab, if there’s anything you should know, a cab from my hometown here is like entering a maze. A California license plate reminds me where I’ll be next week. Reason why I’m here today in the first place. I guess I’ll stop my mental judgment of the world around me now. 

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