Pittsburgh International Airport -- gate B37.

What has happened to people?
The waiting area is all but empty. A mother (middle-aged) and her skinny teenage son (with appropriately baggy clothes) sit near the desk. A grubby-looking college student occupies a corner, laptop open. Late-twenties red-head (business woman?) on far side. I come, do the calculations, and sit far enough away from everyone to eliminate all potential for conversation, even in the case of accidental eye-contact. The next six people do the same. Nearly everyone on a cell phone, or eating, or texting.

Real people are scary inconveniences . . . we already know too many.
"I don't have time or energy for you, unless you can prove you have something to offer.
Are you funny? Sexy? Friendly? Impressive? Will you make a good story?"

Has it always been this way? 'Cause I imagine the old days, a station wagon waiting platform-place, gap-toothed, plaid, bearded men exchanging hardy handshakes and "nice-to-meet-yous".

Am I too cool to be excited to meet you, stranger? What can you do to harm me? Any injury to my pride would be a help.

Do any of you think of me? What half-formed ideas about the somber kid with his legs crossed, writing, momentarily distract your brain from its dominant preoccupation?
What are your stories? I'd love to care about you...know that I'm trying--and if that counts for anything, I do care in that small way.

As a child of God, I ought to bring joy to this place. Forgive me stranger--I'm not yet what I should be. I have no real cause to be uneasy, in the grand scheme of things...and certainly I'm of no account, so I don't know why I'm so prone to self-induced social paralysis.
But in another way, there is legitimate cause--the air is thick with fear and sin, the wrecks of mediocrity or malice...hatred sits there, to my left deception. Across against the wall is laziness. But are they happy--generally--or sad?

Are you empty? Or is your void filled with bubbles that make your walls feel like its full?

I do know the Truth. Will you listen if I tell you?

How I Feel About My Lack of Feeling

Brazen. Do you feel you ought to be angry?
Seared beyond disturbance--are you confused?
" 'Trials' are for hypocrites. Life longs to be explained
In terms more universal and less problematic--"
Because--I don't know about you--but
Regardless of possibility, I want to be upset
By pain.
When my own pain subsides,
My nerves take a break.

In the intellectual corners of experience
I rage against injustice -- but the heat
Is trapped there. My fire-pit
Is cold with other emotions
More suited to personal comfort.
"It's unfair! It's unfair!"
Dies down and settles into smug
Self-content in perceiving the convenient Wrong of the world;
It means we're not to blame.