Drunk on Piccadilly

Friday, September 21st, 2007 @ 9:51 | abroad, life

Across from me sits a woman in late thirties, sleeping. She’s in a junior position at a company. She’s resting her head against a stranger. The stranger is taking it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Being a commute sleeper myself, I think it is.

On the right, a man wearing a turban is carrying a bike inside the underground car. The walls are so close. When we stop in the tunnel, I can feel the air getting thicker. On the left, a red-faced man in his forties, wearing a suit and tie comes in, sits down and pulls out a Warhammer 40’000 novel.

An advertisement on the wall says that I spend three years of my life in commute. Right now, I think it’s time I couldn’t spend better. This morning I noticed how wrinkled my eyes had gotten since the last time I really looked at them.

The woman gets out and I see myself in the plexiglass reflection, smiling. I can’t help but smile, all the fifty minutes from Holborn to Heathrow. I’m feeling the love of a night out with my dear friends. My music goes from Justin to Ken Ishii, culminating in fragile electro as I wake up to get out of the underground.

Reflection on reflection it hits me. I can’t help but smile.

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