There is a song by Bruce Springsteen from the album Nebraska that goes like this
My little sister's in the front seat with an ice cream cone My ma's in the backseat sittin' all alone As my pa steers her slow out of the lot for a test drive down Michigan Avenue Now my ma she fingers her wedding band And watches the salesman stare at my old man's hands He's tellin' us all 'bout the break he'd give us if he could but he just can't Well if I could I swear I know just what I'd do Now mister the day the lottery I win I ain't ever gonna ride in no used car again Now the neighbors come from near and far As we pull up in our brand new used car I wish he'd just hit the gas and let out a cry and tell 'em all they can kiss our asses goodbye My dad he sweats the same job from mornin' to mornin' Me I walk home on the same dirty streets where I was born Up the block I can hear my little sister in the front seat blowin' that horn The sounds echo'in all down Michigan Avenue Now mister the day my number comes in I ain't ever gonna ride in no used car again
I feel like at times I am walking those same dirty streets, waiting, hoping for something to give. It doesn't it just gets uglier and deeper into senseless nothingness. All those shiny happy people, how do they cope? I feel like I lurch from clinging to a small semblance of life or complete oblivion. Has it always been that everyone is so self-absorbed that no matter what is going on around them, they just step forward, enamoured with their own reflections in their cellphone screens.