I feel I am a slave to unnatural rhythms. I work at all the little factories off the tracks, standing beside others in the noise, waiting for lunch while the heat off the machine finally warms my bones, racing ahead just so I might fall behind a few precious seconds more.
Sometimes I stand beside a woman. Sometimes I stand with other men. Sometimes I flirt with a woman in a grubby t-shirt sipping a big gulp. I stare at her so she knows something in me has come to a stand still in the sight of her. Sometimes I do it so I might convince myself it is true.
I feel as if I am slowly dying. I wonder if I am starved of some essential ingredient, the lack of some unlettered vitamin. I feel that everyone is too busy to notice or offer advice. Everyone is hustling for something or other. The paler I get, the weaker my arms feel, the more the others naturally shy away from me. It's easier to predict what can be anticipated. The slower I am on the line, the closer they must come to me and I to them until I am unnecessary, worthless. They could go on without me, more distracted by the extra work, more disappointed.
I stood shaking today, unable to lift another part from its rack.
I saw the woman's hand rise. I stared at her bracelet rising and falling. I stared at it a long while until it was nothing but colors moving up and down.
Then she broke the spell with a cough.