Citylife

...

in the sterile canteen, queue for fifteen minutes to be sold an over-priced wrap and weak-ass coffee from a middle aged weapon of a woman with a bad attitude and a turn in her eye. Scan the entire seating area for a vacant seat, recieving glances from the other occupants that make me feel about as welcome as a Jamaican at a clan rally, I decide to head to the canal, at least the swans and the wino’s don’t appear to despise me. Out on the street, all I can see is suited and booted souls rushing about aimlessly, chattering on mobile phones, buzzing in and out of cafes and convenience stores like bee’s around a hive in July, except it’s not July, it’s November and it’s bloody perishing out, I stick on my headphones and walk with the legions of lunchers towards the canal, the sound of Tom Waits singing "Hard Rains Comin Down on Me" taking my mind somewhat off my monotonous existance.

On the canal, Wino-Willy is not in his usual spot, sitting on the stump beside the foot-bridge keeping an eye out for the perfect prospect for the few bob. He never asks me for money, though he always winks at me, a strange kind of recognition in his eyes, perhaps we are kindred souls, both on the outside of the quasi-society in the bustling financial centre. I always have felt an affiliation with the outcasts, the hookers, winos’, junkies and recluses, certainly more so than the people I work with, or my family or that insufferable few souls I call my friends, merely for want of a better word for them. Perhaps if they were hookers or wino’s, I would then recognize a glimmer of humanity in them. I hope wino-Willy is ok, I like how uncomfortable he makes the suits in the souls appear as they approach his little corner of the world. After eating my ham-less ham-salad wrap, I drain the last of my coffee flavoured water and light a smoke, deciding to sit for a minute before braving the matrix of monotony once more. Tom Waits is now singing "Cocaine Blues", god, I wish I had some cocaine, or some coffee, anything I can injest to remind me I’m alive.

Heading away from my waterfront sanctuary I Head back to the office, Every body is already back at their desk, and I’m not even late, why is everyone so keen to prove they don’t value their own lives? Four Hours lie between me and sixteen hours freedom, and so the circle goes,Solemn faces abound as the afternoon lethargy of a fading sugar rush giving way to repressed emotions and a lingering feeling of worthlessness, pointlessness, and hopelessness hang in the air like a lingering fart. To break the stifling boredom I decide to flick another paper clip into the direction of everyone and nobody, chuffed when I heard an annoyed "TUT, Gossake"

I smiled, sincerely, it was the first time I smiled all day.

And the last.