I was walking in the crowd today and that day.
Pushed, jostled, jabbed and poked.
Still I moved on.
Still we moved on.
The person on my left came and left as a stranger.
On my right a fren, we chatted a bit.
He got rushed onwards by a man wearing a suit, carrying a briefcase and a pair of sweaty palms.
I don't know him.
Still I moved on.
Still we moved on.
I got stepped on. I looked ahead, angry.
She apologised, rather sincerely, i think.
I can't remember her face.
I walked a bit faster, desparate for air.
We stopped at a junction, waiting... Just waiting.
And then we moved on.
And I moved on.
We're all struggling, the hustle bustle, to get out of it all.
Heads bent against the air that reeks of sweat and smoke.
Hearts closed and placed far far away in a safe chest.
Still we moved on.
Still I moved on.
That's just what I know.
A statement, a theory, a claim with no beginning, conclusion, no end.
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