Waiting. The hurry-up London feel abandoned out of necessity, sitting in a station seemingly alien from the norm. People walking too slowly, irritated by my rush, answers to questions unhurried, amused by my agitation.
Forced to wait in an unheard-of 40 minutes in the land of blue leggings and lilting accents,
watching the young man crisp-eating, gazing vacant,
the grandmother trying to disguise her age with too short dresses and hooped earrings nestled in the creases of her earlobes, pink-coated, green-shoed,
the smile-weary waitress apologetically serving cardboard tasting coffee in a chipped yellow mug, "woon fortay plays."
A strange comfort - I notice not a single set of earphones - in the unhurried grey. And I notice the friendly smiles of a stranger and the waitress,
and the singing of a lone coffee drinker.
No comments:
Post a Comment