Sardines

was pressed up against the bodies of the people around me, moving back and forth with the sway of the car. The occasional jolt sent me plunging into the lap of a stranger. I held my bag near to the ground as our top-heavy anatomy prevented me from keeping it on my back where it belonged. I thought about a sardine can and about how well the tiny bodies fit next to each other. If only half the people on the subway stood on their heads we could likely double the number of people on each train. And nothing would be lost because people don’t converse on the subway. Neither words nor eyes meet. We are all so close, confined to the same small space, but are actively avoiding each other. We might as well be soaked in oil and nestled in a tin can.

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