tales from an ordinary world

2002-06-18

It's a very crisp morning - all stars, no clouds. I fumble with my discman "remote" while I walk down the driveway, looking up at the dark, dark blue sky. Ah. Got it. electr-o-pura fires up in my ears. I'm still not really looking where I'm going, but I've walked this way most mornings for four and a half years now - there are no surprises.

It's cold - not unreasonably so, but the kind of cold you know people will go on about all day. Two guys, regulars of this particular tram-run get on and sit down together, huddled in their warm clothes. They're always wearing the same respective pairs of running shoes - one, traditional-looking late-20th-century shaped, in black and blue with white underneath, and the other with something slightly more recent but also slightly unattractive, awash with green and blue across the top, as if somebody spilt something on them. They rarely talk, in fact, they usually seem to be trying to catch up on sleep.

I'm reading my book, but - attention span, unquenchable curiosity, I don't know - I spend half my time looking at passengers or (mostly) out the window, at the vagaries of another new day.