How do you keep going on?

I cross the street, iron monsters surround me, throwing their poisonous gases into my eyes and filling my lungs, heavy as lead. That’s how I feel now, I want to get away, away from the grind, away from the smell of everyday life, let me write, writing is not dying, writing is wanting to live, but not out here? 

I ask the old man next to me at the bus stop: “How do you keep going, how can you live in this world, or do you even realize you’re alive, maybe you forgot that long ago? Forgetting, is that the solution?”

He looks at me as if I asked him where the bakery is, shrugs his shoulders, and continues reading his newspaper. 

So that’s how it should be done, you just ignore the fact that you exist. Ignore the fact what is happening and just, eat, work, sleep…