A tiny blip in the continuum

The raindrops on the windowpane, like little kaleidoscopes, shimmer in a spectrum of rainbow colors as my taxi cab, caught in the thick of traffic, inches forward bit by bit. Through this liquid veil I watch as the world outside unfolds like a silent film, the many passers-by the characters in it and the drenched city the set on which they occupy.

Every once in a while, a passing car in the next lane wipes into sight and lingers alongside, its taillights painting the little kaleidoscopes on my window an explosion of red before it moves on ahead and unveils, like a transition, a mise en scène now altered.

Within this ensemble cast, a few individuals appear to be lead characters while the others, seemingly relegated to being bit players by the invisible hand of natural selection, shuffle past in their ten seconds of fame and are never seen again. Exit stage left. Out of the lights and onto the streets. I will never know their faces. Who are they, really? The father to his children. The lover to her partner. The daughter to her aged parents. I will never know the stories they have to tell about the roles they play away from my roving eye.

The taxi cab lurches to a halt again. The car behind me overtakes; another transition unfolds. As a new scene begins, I catch the gaze of a woman at a junction, waiting to cross. She stares absently at me. I have become the bit player in the silent film playing before her eyes, my existence volatile and cursory. And when the lights change, I will, likewise, be forgotten.