8am Possible Profundity:
Everyone morning there’s a small queue of the walking wounded outside the gp’s surgery round the corner. This morning there was just a solitary woman. She was in her thirties with a brassy blonde pony tail, a dark hoody with something random embroidered either side of the zip and a pair of pale tracksuit bottoms, her arms where clamped tight under her chest and she had a gasper smouldering away between her ring heavy knuckles.
As I walked past she said something (why do people never see earphones?). Taking one of my buds out and cocking my head, she repeats herself.
“We’re all waiting for something mate”
“Thing is I think mines already been and gone”
And with that she turns away and takes long drag.
It was all so rhetorical I’m not sure I responded at all and just walked on.
Tomorrow being and nothingness from the bloke in the station paper kiosk
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