I hear the fray. I don’t see it. It’s just down the hill from where I live. I don’t enter the fray. I avoid the fray. I’m not afraid to tango… it’s just that they’re so crazy. They’re always in a rush or distracted and not really into the moment as life should be lived. I’ve seen them with eyes squinted into the glaring Sun. Sometimes they mouth silent songs that are drowned out by the whining of tires on pavement. I think they’re called commuters. I just call them crazy.

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