We’ve bred our worker class, Troglytes with no aspiration to look any further than their noses. I saw three gathered at a Starbucks. They’re here.

It was at one of those Starbucks inside a supermarket. They were killing time, standing by the counter, neither consuming anything, nor on the way anywhere it appeared. They kept company with a “Barista” on the clock.

Nothing new I suppose, except I became struck by their passive homogeneity. We are breeding them, this underling class. They’re pudgy, sloppily attired, hands in pockets, quiet, smug, flat footed, close cropped, coming and going from home and TV probably, or another Starbucks. I’ll add too, poor eyesight and terrible complexions but that could just reflect their unassuming, un-charismatic personalities. Their quality of life is their workplace decor, but they miss nothing because we’ve fashioned them with the brains of their parents, fetal alcohol syndrome, pseudo-education, uncritical thinking, squashed expectations, and monosyllabic vocabularies. Give them their pot if they insist on it.

So long as they lower their eyes when we pass, do we care?