jamiehas @ wordpress

Monday, 5.30 am, and I’m trying to remember how to pick my way out of this vast estate. The darkness is surprising; alleyways scratched out in a thicker charcoal than I’d expected at this time, in this big, electrified city. The rain lets up, barely even kissing my forehead now, and I notice streetlights reflected in the puddles, jewellery store neons catching on deep black opals. Traffic is sparse and the city feels fresh, just for now. Cold air runs around my neck but I hardly noctice, still warm from the bed I only just left.

Still sleep-dazed on the subway, my reflection raises a bleary eyebrow. I truly look a mess. Dressed backwards in the dark, and I haven’t seen the smart end of a razor for God knows how long now. Could be why that streetwalker who stopped me only wanted change for the bus, no kind of a good time. Speakers crackle and the service is changing, this train is no longer the train to get me where I want to go. Best get off here, kid. By the time I’m on my feet, the doors are already shut again. Fuck. But we can always replan, reroute. You can divert a thousand times and still end up where you want to be.

Out of the underground and I’m on my home service, watching the sun rise over the flickering skyline. Legs ache from escalator sprinting, mouth’s burned all over from hot tea slugged too hastily, but I’m relaxed and self-satisfied. Despite all my wrong turns, despite the stupidity of the plan, I’m going to make it to work on time. I’ve had my cake and eaten it seven times over. I slide down in my seat, pull out my book. It tells me that trains symbolise fate, destiny; you ride, you can forget about choosing where you go. For the moment, I’m unconcerned. Every direction feels like away.