Eyes From Line #9


Thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster, I am on my way home from a really grueling day at work. Yes indeed, His Noodly Appendage is guiding my tired ass home.

The lady across from me is sleeping, her head pressed to the flat grey bulkhead of Line #9. I can see inside her carry-on bag: an umbrella, Coffee-Mate creamer, and an empty Tupperware container. I. I wonder what her story is. As an older Latina, I wonder what she thinks about Election 2016… or if she thinks about it at all. A Super-wealthy bastard and a super-wealthy bitch fighting it out while SuperPACS pour even more millions into their campaigns is about as far removed from our everyday lives as the Opportunity rover on Mars… and a lot less interesting.

Bernie Sanders would care about this Latina woman. He would care about all of us — not just the ones who can afford a $35,000-a-plate fundraiser: the ones who wouldn’t be on a bus like Line #9 to begin with. I believe Jill Stein cares about us as well.

She awakens, this older Latina woman. I glance over at her as she pulls the cord to get off at the next stop, but she’s busy making sure nothing fell out of her bag and doesn’t see me. She, along with most of the other passengers, gets off at the Ensemble/HCC station. She doesn’t look up.

And then she’s gone, lost in the throng.

And Line #9 moves on.

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