I love my MP3 player. I can blast my music and stuff my hands in my pockets with my eyes closed, just listening to the beats on the lightrail. I don’t have to listen to the whining baby seated behind me. I drown out the coughing of the skinny kid across the aisle. I can’t hear the wrinkled old woman behind me loudly complain of her arthritis. I only see a mouth move as the man standing next to the door argues into his phone.
I love my e-reader. I can look down at its screen and only see the words of my fantasy worlds come alive. I easily avoid eye contact with the war veteran in front of me filled with stories of the real world. I escape conversation with the school teacher next to me who fondly recalls every life she’s touched. I don’t have to smile politely at the man who’s lived in ten different countries.
I love my smart phone. I can play silly games on it and read about the restaurant my bff went to last night. I feign ignorance at the homeless man begging for donations, who is missing an arm. I tap my fingers on the screen, tapping away conversation about a childhood on a milk farm. I’m too focused to notice what beautiful language the couple next to me is speaking in.
My world is pleasant, right where I’m at. Listening to music I’m sure like, reading books about lands that don’t exist, and learning about standard places through people I already know. I don’t have to get out of my seat, and most definitely don’t have to walk in someone’s dirty shoes.
Who knows where those things have been?
Dry Amusement 