I open my eyes to the whistle of a kettle.
For a split second I have to mentally relocate where I am and the lightning bulbs above my head tell me I'm the small girl in the big town of stars now. I’ve slipped into my daily routine before I even get to stumble into my slippers, with a little smile on my face because I look forward to more than a silver lining.
On my way to work I cross the same semi-crowded streets that slowly turn into familiar traces in fog and rain and sunshine, sometimes, yet are completely new to my excitedly beating friend that is my wanderlust driven heart. In a rattling tube I sit and I feel my phone vibrating in the pocket of my jacket and it turning silent once darkness swallows the train. Never do I look at it because I’m too focused on avoiding people’s gazes and watching the morning rays hit tired crowds and endless rows of houses and initials of Wembley Park.
Tired, annoyed faces taint the escalator row of waiting beings on their way to work, stressing over time that doesn’t stop. Alluring eyes of mine, still fresh of newness and excitement, cannot help but take in and observe the hurrying crowd, at rush-hour making it seem like there’s some kind of apocalypse going on downstairs the tube station. Everyone is rushing out and in and I am thrown in lanes, a step back and forward. There’s no time to stand still and wait so I don’t.
Tube Essay, Volume 1. Until then,