The abstraction of my obsolete time into an instant in which I feel the tension rising, while I see that Periférico is slow again; an electric collision of an oratory thread is about to happen. But not everything is so bad—I got a seat by the window (on public transport, let’s admit it, it’s the best spot).
My coffee lasts me for the ride, and from my privileged seat I can observe the speed or calm with which passersby tend to move. Many of them listen to music, walk their dogs, smile, look serious; I don’t know their lives, but they keep going—they don’t stop.
What are the kids carrying in those big backpacks? More than getting in the way, they make me think they might actually redirect the future and do things differently. So I don’t mind helping one by placing their bag at my feet, so they don’t have to carry it down that narrow aisle. The young woman next to me is reading—I can’t quite see what book it is, but just as we arrive in Tláhuac, she hugs it, and it is none other than Mask and Clover by Storni. I smile because, well, we must keep reading.
At the traffic lights I think: “Why didn’t I bring another book, a treat, something to assemble?” A good song comes on—the driver really knows how to soundtrack the ride—so I focus on the window, and then I reflect:
On an evolutionary level, movement is the basis of life. We move through three main drives: necessity, homeostasis, and dopamine. In the end, we all have an intrinsic impulse that leads us to move forward, to board the bus, and to keep going.
Photography by Cristóbal Coello Robles // Dev/Scan at Bengala
