They drive by.

I’ve moved my modest little writing table near a window where I can see the traffic pass by for the remainder of our stay in this small city.

Every day as I sit and contemplate more serious matters, I see people in little snapshots of their lives and wonder what concerns them. Not that I intend to take on their concerns, I just wonder what it looks like to other people.

There are people who seem oblivious to everything and entirely too concerned with how they appear to others, and they are hilarious to see. Their entire identity is plastered across the vehicles they drive, and is often the vehicle itself. It’s proof of how confused we are as a society, that we allow our possessions to define us in such a fashion.

I will miss the humor in seeing people peacocking because they define themselves with external factors. I won’t miss the contempt I feel every time I see the tailfeathers.

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