My modern day Ecclesiastes
the traffic runs like blood through these streets, main arteries in the stop and go life. Mundane rumbles and rushing but standing still people, making their way from what they love, to what makes, what they love possible — in this world. That person, confined beside you in their comfortable luxury automobile, may have a wife, maybe a husband, maybe their marriage is the most beautiful thing, or maybe it's very broken. Maybe they have kids that are rebelling, maybe this time to and from work is the only moment they get to be with themselves, maybe it's the most comforting time, maybe the scariest. We are all paying for something. We all, in this culture, sacrifice our time, which is the most important commodity, for a bunch of shiny stuff, that somehow, makes this every day grind seem bearable. While we grow older, and more aches and more stresses creep up our backs, our necks, brace our temples with vices of various labels, we sacrifice more time, for more objects w...