In the sky, it’s gray and foggy. But here on the streets of downtown Boston, the air is dry and crisp, and it’s a good morning to be a pedestrian, strolling to the office along clogged urban arteries of vehicular metal, rubber, and smog.
I like walking among the corporate conquerors in their suits and shiny shoes. I match their clipped strides and aloof gazes. They are trim and spritely, ready to hunker down in their luxury office suites, battle in board rooms, wage war for market share, combat for capital, and clash for cash.
On High Street, I pass Sebastians, a hoity chain of corporate dining establishments in Boston that offers a diversified range of sandwiches, soup, salad, and hot entrees for discerning patrons who prefer paying $8 for a tiny portion instead of $5 for a sizable portion.
Sebastians is spacious and softly illuminated with contemporary lighting fixtures. There are stainless steel baker’s racks of gourmet foodstuffs for light office refreshments and clandestine cubicle snacking. Though it is 8:30am, about a dozen workers with tan-colored skin bustle behind the counters, wearing white caps and aprons, preparing trays of food to be delivered to nearby offices.
I slow my pace outside of Sebastian’s storefront. I am a believer that human life is ruled by twitches of fate, and I belive that it is by twitch of fate that my worth is measured output of words, and not output of sandwiches.
