Domestic Fable

It’s a crowded bus.  Almost all of the people who are waiting with you rush to ride it, others criticize and move aside.  You can barely hold on to the door by the tips of your toes as the bus starts.  At the next stop you manage to enter even though the door has yet to close behind you.  Thus begins a long journey. -/’Scuse me, ‘scuse me/-, you whisper and many look at you as if to say: “Don’t you see that moving is impossible, that physics is physics.”

-/’Scuse me, ‘scuse me/-, you twist and contort and advance into a space that resists or refuses you.  The heat is hellish and the survival instinct of those who have achieved a better position makes them resist you.  But you, -/’Scuse me, ‘scuse me-/, by the end of this trip, and although it hasn’t always turned out this way, are sitting in the seat next to the little window in the back.

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