When the sun comes around and your phone wakes you up, or tries to. The birds are not even singing yet but the sounds of the horns and the trains in the distance signal a new day.
You pull on your clothing, you have a quick coffee and you say your prayers…
Your back is in spasms, your knee feels as if it’s going to pop out, you pull on your coat and head on out.
You have a job to do.
Walking gingerly towards the El you see the usual people. Kids racing on scooters with prayer bags in hand, the lady with the thick black glasses always with a pastry and a hot cup. The just-awakened young lady spreading food for the local squirrels, cats and birds.
Somehow, you make it to the stairs and you feel it’s a major victory that you find yourself upon the platform as the train comes rolling in.
It’s a victory that you must remember is a championship of sorts.
Your mind is in overdrive, inner conflicts like the old Thrilla in Manila, round after round, jabs, punches and finally, the round ends.
Yet the bruises of reality remain.
In a world where children are taken, where hatred is King and division bells ring…
The question is cried, sung and thought about…where do we go from here?
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