The ritual begins at 6:45 AM. The alarm is not a wake-up call; it is a summons to the first obligation of the day.
Concrete ribbons stretch toward a horizon obscured by smog and indifference. We sit in metal boxes, waiting for the light to change, waiting for the clock to start.
Each mile traveled is a tax paid in time. The city breathes out exhaust, and we breathe it in, fueling the machine that demands our presence.