Twine #2

You are tired. You need sleep. You hate this place. To you, this is where individuality goes to die. But that is implying there is ever individuality here in the first place. Everybody dresses the same. Everybody talks the same. Always some half-hearted attempts. Everybody has the same aspirations. By aspirations we mean the most basic of Maslow's. A fervent need to obtain. A vapid sense of anti intellectualism. Everything is a copy of a copy. You [[Throw down your hands and go home. -> Must the show go on.]] [[Continue with your daily routine. -> The show must go on.]] [[Decide to not get out of bed. You have yet to expand any of your day off. -> Lingers on.]]`

This is it. You have had enough. You would go home where the food is good and the air is intoxicating and the people leave their facade at home. But this is not your decision. No one in your family had ever enjoyed the priviledges you enjoy. They survived two World Wars, That War, Communist Oppression and the collapse of the USSR. And they prevailed. [[If they can do it, you can do it. Quit your whining and toughen up. Getting out of bed is never difficult. -> Lingers on.]]

You lazily put on one of your daily suits. Not the one full of your mother's hopes, the one that she ironed proudly with her veiny hands. This is just another one of your drone suits. You chow down your whatever you always have for breakfast. Peanut butter jam sandwich with an apple and a cup of coffee to swallow it all down. Come to think of it, you used to have no trouble swallowing. You wonder which train should you take, the Red line that would directly lead you to the office or the Green Line so you can walk through Central Park. You find yourself weighing your choices as if it's the last decision that actually matters in your life. [[Red Line -> Red Line]] [[Green Line -> Green no]] [[Take an uber because you prefer to be quiet and peaceful. -> Uber]]

You lie in bed, knowing that each moment you delay getting to works and school is another moment you spend your parent's hardearned money, whatever little of your money. Each moment you delay is another moment you wither away the efficiency of the creaking and not very well maintained production system on which every dollars ever made was built on. You know full well that taking a day off does not help. You would spend the day eating Cheetos with chopsticks and hating yourself. Looking up old flames wondering if you could have done different. Looking up old friends wondering if you could have done different. [[You tell yourselves it's better to not hate yourselves and hate others. At least the feeling of alleged superiorty outweights the crushing sense of self-loathing. -> The show must go on.]] [[You prevail over yourself this time. You spend the whole day at home watching movies, scrolling aimlessly through your social media feed, wondering what you could have done differently. You spend every second of the day loathing yourself for not going to work. You tell yoursef you would go to work tomorrow. You would. ->The eleven fifteen from Newcastle is now approaching]]

You are the greeted by the familiar sense of homeless laundry as you enter the station. And the sound of Baroque strings from the Armenian brothers. You see them every once in a while, one in black, the other clad in white. Both playing classical and other Baroque pieces. Less for people and more to themselves. And Jim the homeless still in that same spot, snoring the soothing sound of traintracks. City life is profoundly lonely on its own, but at least these people leave you alone. You let out a sigh as the train is announced to be delayed. Spring thaw and everything. From across the platform you catch the manly stare of some young athelete in underwears, with supermodel conveniently placed close to his groin and his nipple? You are what you want to be. [[You hop on the train and hopefully get to work before you lost your wages. Again. This time not wanting to get out of bed is not an acceptable excuse. Maybe it was not, ever. -> Work]]

To much of your dismay, the Green Line is under maintenance. What is it, Boston T Line, you ask yourself? [[You begrudgingly take the Red Line -> Red Line]]

You hail an uBer, feeling generous as spending money has become a kind of guilty pleasure, one your brain has kindly associated with stimulus. Economically. Erotically. Your driver just have to be a wee cunt. With a stoner voice, he askes where you work. Before you can return, he already said you must be pulling "mad pussies with all that cashes and suits". Way to rub it in, for the last time you were held in the arm of a beautiful woman, you actually have some meaning in life. You ~~Quietly look out the window or pretend to be on your phone.~~ ~~Women are not accommodation.~~ [[Ask him to change topics -> Topics]]

For some reasons unknow, your driver seems to be keen on politics. Sure, you tell yourself, expecting the kind of pure ideology you are about to sniff. Must be better than all the paint thinners you use to friend with. "So I'm like, pretty liberals you know. Like, they need to legalize weeds already. It's just a plant. You smoke weed and sit there looking at the ceiling and not out beating up people and shits, you know what I'm saying man. And make colleges free too. And healthcare because this whole ACA thing is fucked." Doesn't sound too bad, you say to yourself. The car got stuck in traffic, courtesy of a protest. Your driver just have to be a wee cunt again. "So, I'm like, soshually liberal and economically conservatives, you know. Like, weeds and free colleges are cool, but I don't know about this whole social justice thing. Like, Michael Brown was asking for it when he reached for the office's gun, ya know. Besides, all lives matter bro I don't see races. Live and let live. I don't want Middle Eastern refugees too, what if they are terrorists? Why don't they just stop running and start fighting back, ya know." ~~More like socially conservatives, economically liberal amirite children~~ ~~You need to go to gulag~~ ~~the idealogy, it burns~~ [[You keep playing along with the conversation, nodding along here and there. You wish to get out of here as soon as possible. -> Work]]

And the rat race begins anew. You say the same thing as you had said to people for the last two hundred fifty four days. And they dress the same as you do too. You find yourself in your little nest, a cub with no privacy. The place where your indivuality goes to die. At least you decorate it with your X-Wing and your grandfather's wings. The pride of the People Airforce, the only one in the entire Communist bloc to have shot down eleven US F-4 Phantom. And you are here, doing exactly what you have done for the last two thousand five hundred fifty four days of your life. [[Now this what I call living. ->The eleven fifteen from Newcastle is now approaching]]