Eulogy for the Working Man

Everyone is dressed so seriously in their dark navy pants, black jackets, brown boots, gray hoodies, houndstooth hats, herringbone trousers, mahogany leather purses, chestnut gloves, maroon socks. The rush hour traffic is dressed subdued, ready for a funeral procession, solemn as a depressed preacher, lonely as a poet, dismal as a rainy autumn day.  I feel adequately prepared for the day in my purple pants, bright legs ready for the dance of another day, ready to jig for another hustle . In this parade of sad clowns, I am the outlier.


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