You are not “big players”, you are fish in a stream
Image via Wikipedia
London is such a funny place sometimes. I love visiting here, but have absolutely no intentions of living here again ever. Walking into work this morning past Bank station was like being Neo in the first Matrix film, in the scene on the busy street, where he eventually is distracted by the girl in the red dress. Except without the super powers, being the savior of man kind, or having a suit that wonderful.
Everybody was going the other way to me, streaming out of Bank station having been rammed in, like so many be-suited sardines in their tube tin, and every single one seemed to be unwilling to hesitate or deviate from their path, content instead to make me hop skip and jump out of their way, or to clobber me in the knees witht their massive leather bags.
Each one also had their earphones firmly wedged into their head, isolating them them the world in a cooccon of sound. I wonder what they are listening to? Some quality techno maybe, to wake them up? Some soothing string instrumentals? Experimental Japaneese Bento-Pop? Self help tapes from the Evil Gillian McKeith?
I like to thinkk they’re all listening to birdsong, and pretending they are wading through a river somewhere tranquil, not bumping shoulders with strangers and ignoring the world around them.
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