The camera and crew blocked the way to the bathroom at the live televised breakfast this morning so anyone watching would have caught a stylish purple girl flicking casual V’s in the background behind the announcer.
In this town no one wants to leave the house, interaction almost requires legerdemain. The lights go dim on people who never left the house past responsibility calling their nine to five names. I want to resist this feeling, this staid relationship I have with my front door and the stairs past it, the bus-stop and feeling hollow. How much of this is a waste of time? Then I see the faces, the thousand bored expressions around me saying over and over, “this is what we are and we do not smile for strangers.”, and I want to cry out frustration, humiliate the mass of morass keening empty platitudes until they all have to focus their eyes and look at something bright and colourful and real. There are countries that barely have telephones, there is more than television shows and office dates and what did they say about who as they rolled out that dazzling false red carpet?