Location: uptown A train
Weather: cold but clear
Mood: discombobulated
I hope I'm not the only one who does this, watching and analyzing the people around me, my brain makes up their stories, regardless of my desire. My classmate James was keen on saying that humans will overlay meaning on random events, that we had no real choice in the matter. We try and make stories.
It makes sense. In many ways, one could explain a lot of religion that way. All anthropomorphism.
But me, I make up their lives. I make snap judgements (which I realize are most likely incorrect, but I do it anyway...).
Is this a product of writing? Of creating? Or does everyone play this game?
The blonde in the foreground was escorted on the train by an older man who acted rather strangely. Part of me wanted to say theirs was a prostitute-John situation, but ultimately it didn't quite fit. She wasn't jaded enough, she seemed more prone to being intrigued with the world around her, and also a little unsure of where she was. I decided she's new to the city, having come from an eastern European country. She's a modern mail order bride, and when the man knocked on the window to tell her "three" he was telling her how many dresses he wanted her to buy today.
Anyway... Glimpse into my fevered brain. Mail order brides fascinate me, and perhaps I'll look I to that next.
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