The weird tube

It’s unlikely I’m going to get up early enough in the morning to walk myself to Bond Street for Joy Bomb. Today I certainly didn’t. I had to take the tube. It’s a strange world, the underground right now. Adverts for summer festivals vie for attention with dystopic police state notices enforcing behaviours. A couple of institutions have added colour with Christmas ads. They bring a kind of relief. It’s a dark place in those tunnels.

In a normal winter, other Londoners detest you for existing. This winter it’s okay to show it. I walked into the Circle Line carriage and looked at an empty seat. The woman three seats down from the one I looked at hit me with such a palpable stare of distaste that I remained standing. It was only two stops to the change. I walked through those subterranean corridors barely approaching another soul. On the opposing downward elevator to the jubilee line, a woman with immaculate makeup and beanie hat was diligently and fastidiously sanitising her hands the whole way down. A few stops on a strangely empty train to Bond Street and oh, is that a sign saying “Please carry water with you in hot weather.”

It’s two degrees out there. It’s a long time until hot weather. Still, I should’ve carried water with me today. Not for the heat. It was cold. Just for the fact I was dancing all day. It’ll be good for me, this job.

I’m dancing in a window again for art. We had a pile of people come and take photos. Some big names in fashion magazines. And a constant trickle of constant trickles. “Influencers,” they call themselves, and it would be ungrateful to call the lot of them personality vacuums.

Marie and I just danced, and squealed, and jumped up and down, and yowled. My Fitbit recorded over 20k paces without my moving. My heart rate was in Fat burn for most of 9 hours, so I’ll be in good shape for Christmas.

Another 8 hours tomorrow. It’s past eleven and Lou is here. I’m exhausted. I even had time to hurriedly plan Christmas in my lunch break. Christmassy Christmas. Joy to the world.

Not gonna edit tonight. First draft HO.

Night lovelies.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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