Hands stuffed in my long wool coat, shoulders hunched against the wind, I stand at the bus stop. I definitely saw a 55 going in the other direction so, logically, it should be along any moment, prowling along the edge of it's territory.
Twelve hours.
Twelve fucking hours.
Didn't even have a chance to get lunch. I'm starving.
A spec of rain lands on a lens in my glasses and invites a few friends over.
Why have I just spent twelve hours of my life working on something I don't really give a fuck about any more? It's more than twelve, but what's half an hour between enemies? What's the point?
The wind tries to steal my rucksack and the speck soiree is invaded by a bunch of exuberant revelers. I see the hazy outline of a double decker in the distance. Finally.
Warmth. Fetid warmth. It smells like an alleyway that's suddenly been exposed to the summer heat. Definitely a whiff of carroty chunks about the place. I sigh, turn up the Aretha Franklin licking my ears and try to read a little of my book.
Hopeless. I can't concentrate, I'm too tired. I place it back in my bag and vaguely doze for the next twenty minutes of the journey.
Eventually I arrive at my stop and I alight at the edge of a back street, followed, coincidentally yet marginally scarily, by the man on the bus having an arm flapping conversation with himself. I duck down the back street and briskly walk towards Home.
As I walk, annoyance catches up. I'm annoyed because I'm tired. Because all I can think about is getting in my flat and eating. Annoyed because it means that I'm completely oblivious to one of the things I love in life, walking along in the rain.
There is something soothing about walking in the rain. Even walking through the sordid, polluted, many times around, over and through the block droplets that molest you in a city. I love it. But tonight my work has sucked the appreciation from me. The cunt.
I sigh once more and quicken my step, placing a hand in my pocket to silence the loose change. It's the end of another day.
Twelve hours.
Twelve fucking hours.
Didn't even have a chance to get lunch. I'm starving.
A spec of rain lands on a lens in my glasses and invites a few friends over.
Why have I just spent twelve hours of my life working on something I don't really give a fuck about any more? It's more than twelve, but what's half an hour between enemies? What's the point?
The wind tries to steal my rucksack and the speck soiree is invaded by a bunch of exuberant revelers. I see the hazy outline of a double decker in the distance. Finally.
Warmth. Fetid warmth. It smells like an alleyway that's suddenly been exposed to the summer heat. Definitely a whiff of carroty chunks about the place. I sigh, turn up the Aretha Franklin licking my ears and try to read a little of my book.
Hopeless. I can't concentrate, I'm too tired. I place it back in my bag and vaguely doze for the next twenty minutes of the journey.
Eventually I arrive at my stop and I alight at the edge of a back street, followed, coincidentally yet marginally scarily, by the man on the bus having an arm flapping conversation with himself. I duck down the back street and briskly walk towards Home.
As I walk, annoyance catches up. I'm annoyed because I'm tired. Because all I can think about is getting in my flat and eating. Annoyed because it means that I'm completely oblivious to one of the things I love in life, walking along in the rain.
There is something soothing about walking in the rain. Even walking through the sordid, polluted, many times around, over and through the block droplets that molest you in a city. I love it. But tonight my work has sucked the appreciation from me. The cunt.
I sigh once more and quicken my step, placing a hand in my pocket to silence the loose change. It's the end of another day.