Five years living into the calyx of the city there are the ways. There is a way to get on a car. There is a way to gradually move into the space between doors as to avoid the people entering and exiting the car. There is a way to make the reverse move back toward the doors – gradually – as your station clicks toward you. There is a way to wait in line to order from a street cart; there is a way to stand next to the line and to slouch, so as to indicate that you are no longer in the line but still need to remain nearby for the food. There is a way to tear open the packet containing plastic utensils, napkins, and condiments. There is a way to smell the napkins without anybody seeing you do so. The napkin smells faintly of pepper. Pepper is one of the condiments in the packet; the only other one is salt. Salt does not smell like anything to you. The smell-particles of pepper feather outward from the pepper-packet to nestle between the napking-particles. You wonder whose idea it was to include the packet even though it makes the napkin smell faintly of pepper. Someone must have known that the pepper would make the napkin smell like pepper and despite that knowledge (or perhaps because of that knowledge) made the decision to do so anyway.
Whose was it?
The decision is that person’s small mark in history.
Is that something you want?
What if you want something all your life and you never get it?
Maybe wanting less is part of growing big?
There is a way to wonder all this.