Commuting

My alarm went off at six in the morning. It was dark outside. It was cold outside. The radiators were set to come on in half an hour. It was cold inside. A warm bed at six in the morning when it’s dark and cold — damn.

I had a steaming hot shower, got dressed, made a steaming hot coffee. Hot toast with loads of butter at six in the morning — wow.

I got to the station early to catch a train. I waited alone, watched the air from my lungs come out in clouds. Then slowly, one by one, people came from the mist to wait on the platform and make little clouds of their own.

The train was jam packed with people in a way that no train should ever be jam packed with people.

A man in camouflage spoke to himself. He had a rubber walking stick. His eyes were happy. His face was wrinkled in that happy kind of way. We all pretended he wasn’t there.

Before the train arrived at the station, everyone was up and waiting by the doors. When the doors opened, there was a subtle and understated rush to get off. I guess people were keen to get on with their day.

Shadows in the early morning light.

I went hunting for somewhere to stand and check my phone.

Life is like a big blank page of meaninglessness, punctuated by small moments of meaning. I could tell that today didn’t have any punctuation lined up for me, and so I got on with it, patiently waiting for tomorrow.