So busy, yet so anti-social. You get lost in the rushing crowd. Each one individual chases their time in the endless line; yet time is frozen. Individuality is lost in such a horde of bodies.
An old man sits at a table. Alone. Only accompanied by a newspaper. His glasses thin, and his skin fragile. He slowly sips the cheap coffee out of the paper cup. The cold winter sun peaking through the delicate glass. I can’t help but stop. Stop and think for a while. His deep wrinkles tell a tale that everyone ignores – too busy looking inside their paper bags of ‘joy’. His calm nature, so vulnerable; contrasting the chaotic McDonald’s mess.
How can a place so busy consume every inch of a person’s character – without a closer glance, the old man is like every other man. Yet, somehow, each one of them will have a completely different perception of the world. A beautiful perception of the ugly world.
The chaos buries that.