The Ghost Caste In The Vanishing City

She’s off work and she’s walking home. She thinks to herself that a walk will be good for her, and indeed in many ways it will be. Get the old blood flowing. She’ll have to make her way through some of the poorer quarters, but that’s okay, she hasn’t always been as successful as she is now.

To get home, you’ll have to cross the river that divides the successful from the dregs. You’ll have to look at their hobo bags and dirt-streaked clothing and acknowledge to yourself that should the machine break down and you missed out on even one paycheck, you’d be right there next to them. But why think of that?

She looks them over as she goes by, thinking at first that it’s impolite to stare, but then realizing that these people have long stopped caring if they’re looked over. Any look at all carries with it the possibility of a dime or a nickel and is worth enduring for that reason alone. Besides, she only wants to look.

Funny how they all seem to belong to one tribe when their manner of dress and appearance varies so wildly. Look at that fellow there in the patchwork business suit. He used to trade blue chip stocks. Look at that lady with all the bags and girls sweatshirts. Those sweatshirts used to be her daughter’s, when her daughter was young.

This is just how it is though. She shakes her head and thinks about how thin the brick walls are between the alleys full of the homeless and the shops full of the wealthy, or at least the employed, selling their antique engagement rings and pink pants and pizza by the slice.

But how thin that wall really is. Just inches, really. About as thick as the length of time from one paycheck to the next. Speaking of which, you’re getting paid again next week, aren’t you? Maybe you can afford that taxi after all. Look, here’s one now. Roll up the windows and you’ll find it easier to ignore the yawning maw of agony opening beneath your feet.

This is not just a city somewhere out there. This is your city! The line between those who are just making it by and those who have totally lost everything can be as thin as the capricious whims of a coffee shop franchise owner. This is a heavy burden for any one to carry, much less for all. When will the beast’s back at last be broken under this yoke?

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