The Jungle

Sitting in rush hour traffic sucking poison air belched from metal monsters, I thought about our trip to Belize this summer. I thought about the clean air and fresh food and natural wonders all around. I thought about the happy people. Then I thought about how that was just vacation. An illusion granted to us for our commitment to the machine for fifty weeks a year. And I thought about how sitting in traffic, and working at a computer, and spending my lunch hour fighting the insurance company so that I don’t get screwed – that somehow this was the real world that we civilized people have created. Then I thought about the poor people in Belize who don’t have access to Walmart and fast food and getting shoes from Zappos the next day. And how unfortunate they were because of it.

Two signals changed, we didn’t move, and the metal monster in front of me kept breathing.



They Only Jog in Rich Neighborhoods
The October Party

Jim Mitchem

Writer. Father to daughters. Husband. Ad man. Raised by wolves. @jmitchem on twitter. First novel, Minor King, out now.

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