She Clocks Time

The chipped glass is my favourite one to drink from. I come home and make a bee-line for that particular glass to quench my thirst after the commuter train home. It’s the last one I may take for the foreseeable future. Is life made up of hellos and goodbyes do you think? People you see every day-in every day-out and then when time’s up you leave with a gracious step out of their respective front doors. The same way you came in. The weekend is again upon us and I can see the familiar trails of ticker-tape left straggling along some underground station and there’ll always be a hen-do, or two. Men douse themselves with eau-de-cologne and the women present themselves immaculately, by the wee hours of the night make up has been expelled with a frivolous attitude toward drink and dance. A farce. What is everyone up to these days? It’s a good modern wholesome world we inhabit and traipse around in, quite a lot of the time. Making fun, playing games, acting everything out before a non-paying audience. You think you want peace and quiet but then again you jump - you jumped right then! It’s infuriating your energy, will you stop jumping for a minute and come down to my level of lethargy? Nobodies’ got time for hugs. Sloths hug trees for hours. Don’t leave us out here in the cold too long or we might go stale and our stares may become impenetrable. I’m shivering at the thought. The chipped glass now empty beckons me to make a decision. Last night I saw a film, the director is so dishy, and the cinema felt like a decadent cavern. Well-to-do sort of types putting their feet up on plush leather armchairs supping white wine, it was nice, it felt how can I say, grown-up and maybe what life is going to be made up of from now, that is, snippets of “real nice moments” you can recollect in the drearier seasons of which there will be many. Take the good with the bad, roll with the punches, swoon off the scale when you have the option to. It really ain’t that bad.