tales from an ordinary world

2002-05-22

An office full of sitting wounded. An hour's dose of John Zorn in the morning makes me feel more detached, and less useful. Old bones creak their way to lunch, crossing the asphalt so I can stare out a rain-soaked window at somebody's white BMW, wedged between a 4-wheel-drive and something else. Looking around, I guess we're not quite pretty or colourful or animated enough, but I'm happy enough just to be sitting down, somewhere else, with lunch in front of me.

The homeward-bound tram's refurbished, repainted, and mostly full. I watch our progress through darkened glass, behind the driver. As seats gradually become available, I consider moving, but I'm paralyzed by the fear of being accused of ulterior motives by going and sitting near people. It seems easier just to stare out the window and ignore them all. I'm just not in the right frame of mind for this.