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Ever tried listening to Rachmaninoff?   

After a tired evening class, I head home —passing along Roxas Ave. In a packed FX.  I do not know them, these people.

Outside, everything’s quiet.  No happenings.   

I listen to the radio and find myself listening to Rachmaninoff.

I gaze out of the window.  The night, the shadows.  I want to immerse myself in that darkness—it beckons me to discover what is inside.

The people inside, all wanting to  go home.  All hating each other smells.  The odors of a stale day.

I am silent. Just gazing.  Like a silhouette i see, a branch of a tree , swaying.  It feels free to be one of them.