Cars clamored, jacks hammered, citizens stammered through the city streets, which were alive and functioned like a rusty gear, stiff and forceful.
People rushed to and from with technology that works by thumb, and I could see that even some had bags of products that must have cost gold.
Nobody was smiling.
Even myself with optimistic eyes, fiddled with my phone with absolute despise, the warranty that of course implies that should a problem come to arise such as a biker thugs crack the phone in two, perhaps someone cooked it a stew, or a meteor comes crashing down causing an explosion that sends my phone into a burning abyss till its demise.
Or in this case if my battery dies.
I sit with my phone waiting for a text to send, but a receptionless city appears to be the next new trend; I’m vexed as my patience descends into spiraling downfall where my foot taps and my teeth grind and eyes twitch and mind blinded with rage because I’ve been waiting for ages to send less than two pages with the sun on my back, and my brain begins to wrack and I know the text is almost complete, then my screen goes black.
Why does this happen? I’m a good person. I do what I can and yet this world has a way of saying I don’t deserve even the simplest things. It is just senseless.
A scowl forms on my face, chuck my phone in its case, dart my vision around this place and notice a man sitting next to me slightly in my space.
He’s wearing shades and holding a cane, shining grin on his face causing no strain, stroking gray hairs sticking out from his mane and he spoke in a tone so plain, “It’s a beautiful day. Nope, can’t complain.”
“You know the thing about being blind,” he shared as I listened and stared, “is that although I am impaired, I’ll always declare how I love this Earth and the air it spares.
I mean for people like us we hardly discuss and no matter how much we fuss the world keeps spinning.
Now I was blind since I was less than two, and though I don’t know yellow, red or blue, I love this life and will stick to it like glue.
I told my sister, who loves me so, that as long as the wind blows, and fields grow there isn’t reason to have any woes. She responds with her voice in a gleam, ‘So that’s what it’s like when blind people dream. You go through life being so defenseless, you know my brother you sure are senseless.’ Don’t you worry, it doesn’t make me low. I pointed to my eyes and said, ‘I know.'”
He let out a chortle that forced me to smile and gave me an outlook and a brand new style for life and living and avoiding selfish gaffes, and all it took was to hear a blind man laugh.