Final push, week’s last day. Ticket hall pulls and tugs. Caffeined up, but barely awake you head into these concrete lungs. The platform bustles with the alveoli of this stagnated oxygenated city, which breathes with difficulty, keeping commerce’s phlebotomy busy. The trains remotion, motion’s commotion trigger’s your memory’s half-forgotten emotion. No more money they had said yesterday, But really, when you look at it, a promotion. Fight through this long day, don’t let the grind, sharpen your anger. Seven more hours then you’re castaway into warm taverns, relaxation, dubious answers. And everything is alright now, you can’t remember what the fuss was. Bonhomie’s rich cocktail’s lubrication delivering you from monotony’s peril The relief of the last tube, is tinged with regret. Alone, being brave, but still not turning any corners, not yet.
Clapham North Tube, London. 2006. Nikon FM2
Tottenham Court Road Tube, London, 2006. Nikon FM2,
This is delicious: No more money they had said yesterday,
But really, when you look at it, a promotion.
The first photo is stuck in my mind since you published this. So much so that I got a poem triggered out of it.