ON THE RAILS
The streets of the Emerald City laid out poetry & rhythms, naked in the cold light of a thin winter sun.Starting with a crush on the platform in Victoria underground, a ghost train with a beaten skin slipped slowly through the station as we watched silent like mourners lining streets for the passing of a funeral. Cellphones & iMaps ingenious re-routes to circumvent blockages & delays on the rails. The man in the hi-viz waste coat asks the crowd to move but they just stare back blank. No one wants to surrender their place on the platform. He moves in amongst them but still only a few respond. In the City you got to hold your ground or somebody else will jump in. At the end of an inspiring day, travelling from South London to NW1 as we turn for home between the bright lights everybody’s wearing black in tail-backs for someone under a train again at Euston. One more soul who didn’t wake up to see the light.