The tinted window was once again an impediment to his view of the outside world. It’s actually intriguing how we see everything in life through our mind’s tinted windows! This time, however, its presence was at the interface of the fast moving car in which he sat, his nose pressed on this glass, seeing outside.

As the car rolled by the truly entropic populous of this bustling city, amidst other such screeching and honking ogres which had manifested themselves as vehicles, he was overwhelmed by all the faces outside: rigidly flexible faces fixed on top of walking torsos.

Faces thronging the city not in tens, hundreds, or even millions. But going way beyond infinite.

There are so many faces to be seen in this world, and yet so few. Not just due to their silhouetted similarities, but much more importantly due to the limited emotions which they bear upon themselves.

They all screech and honk and mercilessly stare with anger at the other faces which are at the wrong place at the wrong time; yet they are all painted veils: painted with different hues of black and white. They have, all of them, endured a common suffrage of pain, exhaustion, frustration and fatigue from life. They are, all of them, thirsty for a few drops of love and tenderness; hungry for a few bites of anguished meanings; longing for a few droughts of momentary pleasures: all existing at the very same time as the two polar personalities of Sisyphus.

There is always the other side, though. Always.

These self same faces which are ready to draw gore weapons to draw raw blood of their fellows due to their irksome disposition, are actually filled with love for them. But this realization does not come to pass easily.

His head remained firmly pressed against the tinted car window, even as he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. His brain endured every vibration that the car had in the offing, due to the sympathetic state of the dilapidated roads.

The pace of life has certainly evolved. Even as the car’s horsepower makes it roll pass sixty miles in the hour, we might pass a sixty faces in a minute, and yet not care to comprehend a sixtieth of one of them.

A single wrong move can turn around the tables completely in a game of chess, he recalled, thinking about that evening’s game which he interestingly lost.

It’s amazing how we are absurdly ready to give up every sinew of our joy, just to save the result of that one wrong move from utter devastation in the course of time.

He turned his wrist to look at the watch. But somehow the dials were not visible in the deep-seeded darkness of that evening.

Black Rum and Black coffee should not be mixed together, he thought, simply because they’re both black and strong.