He walks down the street, and he tries to think he minds his own business. He pushes past people and stares over their shoulder as he walks, he pays no attention to what any of them say, and when he stops by to cross the road, he makes no point to talk to anyone near him.
He accidentally meets eyes with an older gentleman, with round-lens glasses, the older gentleman holds his wife's hand and continues with his conversation. The man turns away to look past some of the cars, and the asian girl beside him slumps her head down at her phone. The cars rustle, their engines clattering away idly as the cars in a different lane slip beside them.
He averts his eyes from looking past the cars as he’s met with the sight of more people. His hand slides into his jean pocket and pulls out his phone, he leans his head down as he glares at his phone screen as he clicks it on, and he sighs a breath of relief.
His job was done for now, at least. Even as he stands in a casual outfit, his shirt a little too tight, his work outfit packed into his backpack. His extra job was done. Until a few seconds pass, and his thumb glides along the screen, swiping from app to app mindlessly. His head looks at the phone, but his eyes look along the side, walking down by his feet, losing themself in the same grey pattern. And even then, he can feel a weird feeling on his shoulders, something heavier than his backpack yet not even physical.
He eventually brings his eyes to his phone, noticing his social media feed, with stories of convicted criminals, cancelled celebrities for their prejudice or their horrible deeds. Some of the stories he reads, his face recoils in disgust. The lights change, and a loud beeping siren rings, the people in front of him start to cross the road--His legs quickly pick up the pace and he follows them, looking up from his phone and tucking it away.
Thankfully, those horrible people are gone. He thinks. Thankfully, those disgusting celebrities with their biased views of people are gone. Thankfully, I can walk and not be worried about people like that.
And he crosses the street, and walks along into a nice restaurant. The floor tiles are modern, there’s a high roof with luxurious light features that descend down. People murmur in here loudly, he thinks as he walks up along to a pedestal with a screen on it, where he quickly taps the ‘start order’ button.
He can feel the pressure on his back again, and hanging onto his shoulders, and for some reason, a distinct building pressure in his legs. His hands act quick, and his mind works quicker as he organises his meal. But for a moment, he hesitates right as he gets to the ‘pay’ screen.
He licks over his lips, and feels that need in his throat, he feels a slight craving at the bottom of his mouth, at the tip of his tongue for the bitter taste of coffee. Though he knows he’s already at the pay screen, and he knows that the longer he takes, the longer people will watch--And the pressure builds up in his wrist as he hangs there, and quickly taps the pay button, and slides his credit card to the scanner--There’s a loud beep, and he walks through the restaurant, noting the cream colored chairs and tan booths.
He takes a seat on a high stool with a marble countertop, and he waits. His eyes look over the walls, and the lovely look of the modern architecture inside, until the pressure builds again, this time in his head, and he quickly brings out his phone, and begins to scroll aimlessly once again. And he breathes a sigh of relief.
His food shortly arrives, and he nervously speaks a thank you. He grabs his burger, and takes a bite out of it, staring blankly ahead of him, as the pressure slips into his mind, waiting to be found again later.
Thankfully those people are gone. He thinks. Thankfully, society is better.
