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The Forgotten Class Of The Fading City
So, your shift at your minimum wage nine to five has just ended and you're thinking that instead of spending hours on the train or blowing your little bit of money on a taxi, you'll just walk home. Great! An opportunity, at last, to truly know the city in which you've begun to make your life. Let us see who welcomes you.
To get home, you'll have to cross the river that divides the successful from the dregs. You'll have to look at their hobo bags and dirt-streaked clothing and acknowledge to yourself that should the machine break down and you missed out on even one paycheck, you'd be right there next to them. But why think of that?
At first she is reluctant to look at them directly, not because the reality makes her uncomfortable, but because she doesn't want to be rude. And then she realizes that rudeness of this sort is still the privilege of her class. The others are used to it, and if someone looking them over means they might get some loose change out of it, all the better.
Their numbers are huge, but if one knows what to look for, one can find threads of similarity that tie them together and make them known to one another. Here, for example, is a man carrying a lace parasol. Here is a man wearing not one but three girls sweatshirts in the middle of summer. They're all dirty, but it's not from an inherent dirtiness, it's because they've burnt garbage to stay alive.
This is just how it is though. She shakes her head and thinks about how thin the brick walls are between the alleys full of the homeless and the shops full of the wealthy, or at least the employed, selling their antique engagement rings and pink pants and pizza by the slice.
But how thin that wall really is. Just inches, really. About as thick as the length of time from one paycheck to the next. Speaking of which, you're getting paid again next week, aren't you? Maybe you can afford that taxi after all. Look, here's one now. Roll up the windows and you'll find it easier to ignore the yawning maw of agony opening beneath your feet.
And this is how it is the world over, from one city to the next. The division between those who are getting along and those who have lost their foothold is a fine one, but it is a step from which most will never recover once they fall down it. Will you live under the shackles of wage slavery a day longer? It is time to consider alternatives.
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