Every Moment is Two Moments
by Libby Jackson

Step out onto your balcony my friend, and don’t forget your robe, it’s a bit chilly out here. Light a cigarette and watch the world from your penthouse. Do you feel like God? Or do you feel anonymous, like one of those ants down there? Those ants, taking little notice of each other, marching side by side in parallel universes. Listen… It is the infinite soundtrack of honking horns and screeching breaks, the sound of silence. Observe… It is the dead of morning; everything is in motion; and the moon? She is out of work, unemployed. She is a recluse hiding behind ugly blankets of sewer smoke and car exhaust. No one likes to be replaced, but this is a city of insomniacs, illuminated by a million headlights, street lamps, neon advertisements and billboards. Stores glow too, places close late. There are twenty-four-hour pharmacies for those of us who wake up in a cold sweat with the compulsive need to purchase a toothbrush. Bask beneath florescent bulbs and stare at the endless plethora of multi-colored oral hygiene products, consider your options, and make your selection wisely. This is capitalism at its finest. So many promises… “Removes tobacco stains fast”, “fights 90% more plaque than the leading brand.” Promises are bull, so are guarantees. Most of us learn this at a young age. Dad never showed for the big game. She swore she’d never leave you. Your shrink said it was all confidential. You confess your sins, and you’re the topic of next week’s sermon. You’ve got to read the fine print.