workhastobedone

though it is hot and crowded, and people fight aggressively for a seat and do not make way when one needs to get down; though it is true all that, i need to say that in the metro (as we call our subway) i read Proust:

“It is in sickness that we are compelled to recognise that we do not live alone but are chained to a being from a different realm, from whom we are worlds apart, who has no knowledge of us and by whom it is impossible to make ourselves understood: our body.” (p. 404)