you shall not pass
it's not nearly winter yet but it's warm in the metro it's heat-wave warm outside too, and i rush downstairs on my way to work only a little late, not too much my frozen dinner condensing in my bag at about the same rate as i am in my shirt horrified, i realize that it's the second of the month and i still haven't renewed my pass just - like - everyone - else standing sweating and on edge in the stupidly long line snaking to the machine of course the cashier only takes cash once again i step in to the factory line bottle myself up and do everything in my power to distract myself from that gnawing uneasy feeling that whoever's at the front is wasting time *they're* not on the clock, *they* don't have a boss to worry about, they've never used the machine before and they certainly don't need to speak any of the languages they could use to ask for help but this time i'm wrong, it appears, and every minute or so we all shuffle for