Honesty

I woke up this morning, and didn't have time to check the news before running out the door to go to work. I find myself oddly struggling to be agitated by important shit, and am therefore relegated to being highly irritated by the loudness of the PA system on the train, and the masses of people around me. Particularly the "gentleman" next to me, who apparently is trying to snort a 747 up his nose. There's also the guy at the other end of the car who for whatever reason, feels the need to expose everyone in the car to the monotonous, blase, unoriginal tripe spewing from his headphones.

I relate this to you, dear readers (yes, all three of you), because I'm often asked why I bother watching the news when it's so skewed, full of shit, and uninformative in general. This is why. As pedantic and tiresome as news programs can be, they allow me to focus on more important things than how much my fellow apes irritate me. I'll typically find something so offensive or ire-provoking that it necessitates me burying my ample nose in my phone, and blogging my heart out until I hear my stop called.
This is for the safety of others around me as much as my own. Any of those close to me in real life can tell you I have a terrible time keeping my trap shut.

At this point, I'm only doing this to bide my time, and avoid eye contact with the drunkard stumbling around with his hand out.
It gets easier as the train heads farther north, because no one wants to go that far north that doesn't already live there, so the train slowly regurgitates ambling masses of drones onto the platform. Those automatons carry out their designated tasks, wandering without purpose until new puppets are made to replace them, and the cycle repeats.

Seeing the emptiness in these people's eyes depresses me. They have no desires. No ambitions. They just do what they're told they're capable of, which I suspect in many cases is nothing.

I avoid looking up, because every time I do, I feel pity. There's a girl brushing her hair as she stares off into the distance, another sleeping as her eventual replacement runs up and down the length of the car. No one's watching the spawn, and it's the only thing that gives me hope in this bleak tin can. There's still a spark in that little one. There's still something behind those eyes. Still some brain activity.