Envy of the Mindless

Today a homeless man rode between cars through the tunnel to the next stop. I wondered what it would feel like to be that free. Free of shame, free of material need, although I'm assuming something griped him. His eyes were that kind of empty they can get when your vices get the best of you. Of course I would never want to ride between cars through the dark tunnels of the subway. To smell the dank wetness of New York's literal underground, and know that thousands of rats are hoping your ass falls off so they have something to munch on until the cops find you. But just to be that free, void of second thought. Openly insane, instead of keeping your strange thoughts to yourself like the rest of the humans. It's not like I haven't ever walked past a statuesque fountain and thought for a brief moment what it would be like to kick off my shoes and go traipsing through the shallow penny-ridden water. Right there in front of all the lunching business people, who would surely drop their turkey on rye in shock. There I would be splashing up water and singing "The Hills Are Alive". These are things we simple think, but do not do. And in that way, I'm jealous of those with fractured minds, who don't even have enough sense to know their crazy.