Strange people

It’s the people who don’t look when everybody else is looking that you worry about.

They are there and they are everywhere, some say. In shop displays, grimy reflections, magazine covers and behind windscreens and tinted glass. Blankly staring out of office windows, on buses and other forms of public transport, in queues waiting to served with tea and coffee, standing beside supermarket trolleys, pushing supermarket trolleys, putting their purchases into trolleys and then depositing them into the rear end of a cheap Korean hatchback. Others hold mobile phones up to their heads and talk incessantly or text with their thumbs using those popular fonts. This is the unique vision, a world without end or sense, more painful shopping excursions, dirty public transport, food that reminds of congealed slurry and buildings built with materials that are suspect from designs that are corrupt. In the back ground sweet and soulful slide guitar music plays but is drowned out by the hammerings of the water pipes buried deep in the apartment walls. Once their clanging stops, strange screams and thuds are heard, all from unknown sources. The banal and the everyday are unpeeled before our eyes and after our unreliable thoughts have started to form into some pained rejoicing actions. So we cling to the cold wreckage and maintain a sober but polite sense of humour thinking “it could be worse and it could be better so it must be all that it is.”