DON’T WORRY, BABY

At a bus stop beneath a neon “Come in, we’re open” sign, we hover, a moment familiar and strange.

Endlessly switched on, caught between what was and what will be, swept up in the rhythm of endless productivity.
Don’t Worry, Baby. And yet, what does it mean to not worry when the thought of being replaced hangs over us like a warning sign in bright red? A warning that our fragile, messy humanity might soon be cast aside like yesterday’s trash on the side of the street.

Are we really so replaceable? Or might we have the capacity to hold onto our alive, beautiful selves? Can we still find value in our scars, our fault-lines, our chaotic emotions, and our fragile, skin-clad, blood-filled bodies?