Cult

In the underbelly of society, exists a cult. It’s members are not faceless, not unknown. But invisible to most, due to what? Ignorance? Sheer implied, intrinsic anonymity?

I speak not of a cult of religious proportions, though one might call it that, and not be too far off. It’s not a cult of violence, though elements of that may be found if properly sought.

I walk through the morning rush, scarecly aware of my surroundings. Still lacking the first cup of coffee for the day, my approach toward the innevitable is nearly automatic, or comatose, depending on your interpretation. A neatly clad woman passes me, clearly in either a more controlled, or a more rushed state of mind and time. Like sound trailing light, a cloud of entoxicating perfume drifts by, following her. It passes me, not long after she did. A moment of euphoria. Back to numbness.

Out of the subway now, still steaming toward the innevitability of the day’s work. A face passes by. A short exchange of looks, perhaps? Or just a simple, seemingly random gaze? A face recognized. From the cult.

No official, visible recognition of status or position, or even existence. Just a signifying look. Quick mental references; synapses firing wildly to connect dislocated data.

I smile contently.

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