She stepped off the train. They called it a PATH train. Not a country path with the markings of deer or rabbits that have nibbled the shrubs and trees, it was a metal monster, a giant can full of humans rolling along tracks, pushing through tunnels, going under the Paleoarchean rocks. The PATH train took people into New York City to sit at desks all day and record premium payments, calculate interest, move investment monies, initiate court actions and do many of the other important tasks in the maintenance and operation of banking, law and finance. A few people referred to this as Capitalism.

But most of those people were called Communists.  They opposed the building of wealth at the expense of working people.  

At the end of her ride, she stepped off the train and walked up the great hall which felt more like a tunnel burrowing through the real estate.  She was dressed in the best clothes she had ever owned or worn.  Jacket and slacks with matching shoes. A “shell” of a blouse made of polyester with a floral print.  This giving her the brightest bit of color to cheer her through her tedious workday.  As she walked upward toward the busy street, she lifted a foot and then again lifted the next foot over the bodies of homeless people who were just awakening from a miserable night’s sleep.  The air smelled putrid, of rotting flesh. She looked down and saw open pussy wounds on the legs and arms of the detritus of industry. They were not being cared for like friends, nor as family, not even like fellow human beings.

She considered herself lucky. She was not among them. It could easily happen. Failure. Financial ruin. Homelessness. Hopelessness. Disease engulfing the mind. Disorientation. A tendency to crimes of theft and murder. A desperate attempt to maintain one’s own self. 

Suddenly a body stepped before her. She screamed. She ran. She didn’t want to be late for work.