It's all a matter of consciousness.
When I am in bed in the morning in that half-waking state I don't worry about the accident on the motorway or the shooting interstate. When I go to work at a bank I don't see those who can't afford a bank account. Taking in money over the counter I don't see those too poor to have any. Living in Sydney I am not conscious of those struggling in Calcutta. With some help from the media I protect myself from these unpleasantries.
But I might see that new house's overhanging balcony, and the new Porsche in the drive. And I might hear of a cousin's world trip or yacht, or of my son's best friend's skiing trip. Society protects me not from these. This is its engine. The created thirst that keeps it humming, or grinding or groaning. Only hermits are really cocooned.
© Farmer 26 April 1996