There are these mountains that you can see when you walk down certain streets in Brooklyn. They catch you by surprise; where are the bricks in their faces? The stop lights and caution signs? How did they emerge from the concrete? Were they made like all of the buildings that surround you? Just how long have they been there in your background as you walked tapping your fingers into your keys down street after street hoping you’d get to wherever you needed to be. Faster. Always faster, past her and him. Through this diversion and before the creeping car, that is going so much slower than you are. Were those mountains just patiently waiting, knowing all along that one day you’d get the hint? That past the mayhem of the city something waited for you that was indeed in reach? Can you turn your back on the rush for something that can overwhelm you in the most unexpected way? You could get there if you wanted, no it wouldn’t be as easy as the subway but there are roads and then paths that will get you where you didn’t know you needed to be. Those mountains are a destination, they are the end of your commute, well they could be if you allowed them to.
But it’s Wednesday and just like everyday you have your headphones in, and your fingers are tapping your keys to a song you’ve listened to a hundred times on a very familiar street.