Login with Hive Keychain
Enter your Hive username to sign in securely.
Welcome to HiveComb
HiveComb runs on Hive — an open, decentralized blockchain where your posts, votes, and communities belong to you, not a company. To get started, follow these steps:
Create a Hive account
Set up your free account — it only takes a minute.
Install Hive Keychain
A browser extension that securely signs your transactions — your keys never leave your device.
Refresh & log in
Once Keychain is installed, refresh this page and click Login again.
Need help? Join our Discord and we'll help you get set up.
No account? Create one
Having trouble creating your account? Come to our Discord and we'll get you set up.
No posts found
Try adjusting your filters or wait for the worker to classify more posts.
No posts found
Try adjusting your filters or wait for the worker to classify more posts.
No posts found
Try adjusting your filters or wait for the worker to classify more posts.
Welcome to HiveComb!
Choose your default filters to see the content you care about most.
Languages
Categories
Sentiment
Act of self-preservation
A briefcase in hand, he gets up. A long line of passengers standing, still some packed in their seats. Hearing tunneled, a calm hissing ensues. The overall babble exists but everything is amiss as it reaches the ears.
"The next station is in 15 minutes."
Photo by Joao Vitor Marcilio on Unsplash
Commotion in front. A binder on the floor, pages pummeled by passengers in transit. A girl standing as the current flows. The tree pushed as the tide moves. Unfazed, she holds as the lane surges. Elbows collide, unseeing reflex. He doesn't look. The corridor arrives and the continuous batter has made him ragged. The time is there. He rushes to the restroom. The door closes.
Something so peaceful, even though a stop for thousands. The faucet and sink at front, briefcase on the ground. The train shakes as the platform has arrived. Soap, water, lather.
A routine.
The announcement muffled through the door. He notices the time, knows he should move, but the body is mid-ritual. The loss of control, the mind keeps going back to that aisle. The hands keep washing.
A knock. "Sir."
"One moment. Almost done."
Report Misclassification
Why is this post incorrectly classified?
Comments