Might drive next time.

You walk to the train station. You squint as the graupel taunts your exposed face. On the road, car follows car follows car. Walking was once the healthy choice, but you have second thougths as the fumes feels heavy on your lungs.

You decide that you might drive next time.

You’re on the train now. In the quiet carriage, because you want to read. The intercom keeps blaring its Stasi handbook-turned-slogan of “see it; say it; sort it”.

The kid a few seats down hollers “kna’am sayin’” to her mate over hands-free. Someone’s tapping a text on their iPhone - you know this, because of the skeuomorphic typewriter noises it makes.

Like clouds they shape themselves and …

tk tk tk tk

Like clouds they shape …

tk tk tk tk tk

Like cl…

tk tk tk

You decide that you might drive next time.