the walker

When you’re walking, the city pulses beneath you. As your feet (separated from the rough stones that make up the pavement only by a thin layer of cowhide that passes for women’s shoes) steadily chew up feet after feet of distance, you can feel the energy of the world at large slowly enveloping you. 

If you walk long enough… you become one with the city and fear becomes irrelevant.

Others, as you know, will not understand the urge to walk. Once accustomed to vehicles that get you from point A to point B at your pace, often within minutes, spoil us, give us theillusion of safety. When you are a part of the streets, you do not these security because you have no possessions. 

When you walk, you are forced to move at the pace of the city. You can no longer barge through a tide of people, you must bend, circumvent, move in less than the path desired because you are now one cell in a much larger organism and you walk accordingly.

Thus, I walk. I am a faceless dot in the larger canvas of the population. As a dot, I take the time to register other fellow dots making their way through the same path. Each one has a strange story to tell and I only wish I could hear them all.