Not Personal, Not Impersonal

Monday, May 07, 2007

 

Just gone Kennington

It's late. The clattering train. The chattering passengers. The tired faces. The drunken tramp - who smells. The lovers - who should get a room. The bored student listening to his music and leering at the women. And me watching them all. Happy and entertained by them. And always unaware of how they all see me.

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