but is he saved?

Yesterday on the metro I was minding my own business, waiting for my stop like everybody else. Normally, I make a conscious effort to watch my surroundings on the metro. I do not have an iPod, and I do not read. I listen to every creak and hum as the train I'm in speeds or slumps its way to its eventual destination. I do this because I feel that we've become obsessed with filling the space between points. As a culture, we shove as much noise and distraction into every audiovoid as we can, keeping the perceptual shift between point A and point B as small as possible. From the musical score of any american film to the 13-year-olds whose iPods are being stolen in fairfax, we avoid white noise as much as we can.

I personally like white noise. I like knowing what's going on around me.I like melting into the moment as the whir of the train takes off. I like feeling every moment of my life pass by. But that's just me.

Anyways, this particular day, I'm waiting for my stop, like everyone else. Of course everyone else in the train is reading something, but one book in particular caught my eye.

"He's Fine...but is he SAVED?"

Now on the cover of this book are three young black women smiling and having a good ol' time. I thought to myself what it would be like to be friends with these three young ladies, laughing and chortling, eating and drinking. Wondering, like they are, whether he actually is saved or not: tapping my finger to my temple in earnest contemplation as to the soteriological status of his eternal soul.

Then I hit Metro Center and had to get out.

I guess i'll never actually know if he's saved.