Once in a while, an odd thing occurs to the man whom spends his days in solitary urbanization. The man who counts himself amongst a faceless throng in the heart of a concrete jungle will smile at his fellow man, the drunken rabble chanting at the top of their lungs. The proles screams reverberating off the massive testaments to architecture somehow humanizes the whole place. The random cheers and waves, the signs of familiarity amongst those you will never, in all likelihood, lay eyes upon again. The unity that is the rabble, even in a place where the chill glass swallows the skyline.
One can not help but smile at this simple thing, not for the joy of screaming aloud, or knowing that you've brought a smile to another, but because it reminds us how alike we all really are. Some of us work day and night to seem detached and superior, some of us work for just the opposite, but in the end, young or old, man or woman, alpha or beta, we all must yield to the most basic temptation of cracking a smile when a jubilant rabble strolls by, arm in arm, hand in hand, chanting and singing and breathing life into the cold downtown core.
They've said more through an old dance song than I ever could with prose. This brings a hint of happiness even to my often icy heart. Knowing all at once that all efforts towards a message are futile compared to a drunken crowds outburst, and that the message got through anyway.
Some people love to live life for themselves, others live to make others love themselves, but deep down, when the jubilations loose, and the barrier of polite society breaks down, we all become the joy and the sorrow. The hight of human interaction, the pinnacle of random encounters, the true human expression.
Suddenly it's not dog eat dog world, it's a pack of wolves howling at the moon.
