Even in the Asphalt Jungle of the Paranoid Archipelago, we, the temps - the fat butt temps, the dyspeptic ones sitting at our consoles 8 of the 24 electric hours - still manage to see each other with bright and shining eyes, filled with hope.
We sit in our cars with lunch hour dreams that fit almost precisely within the yellow stripes painted on the gravelly asphalt, and our innocence tries to escape through the smudged windshields. Let us dance before the onset of Winter! Let us dance even with our gimpy legs and rolling gait! Dance until we wear the furrows of cold weather corduroys down to hardscrabble fabric!
I never realized how hope and joy transform us all. I'm sorry, but I never knew. Not until I saw the liquid eyes of new friends.
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