It’s when the weirdos come out There is a particular hour on the Night Tube where you can tell exactly who everyone was three hours ago. Not from their faces. From the evidence. Mascara at midnight. Work badge in the…
Tag: commuting
I stand there doing maths like it is romance. London will charge you for lunch and still call it a deal. I laugh. I pay.
Good coat, dead eyes, phone already out. I do it too. The city rewards looking sorted. It never even asks if you even slept tonight.
Mascara at midnight, work badge in the same bag. This city watches you switch lives in one carriage and nobody comments. That is the mercy.
Nobody believes us, least of all ourselves. Quick ones turn into last trains and a messy little story I will edit at work Monday morning.
Habit from years of it. Where the door is. Who I came with. How I get home. Then I ignore it for one last look.
Not pretty landmarks. Late food counters. Which one still serves you when you look a state. That is how I map this whole messy London.
I know the night bus exists. My feet know it too. Sometimes I pay the stupid fare so I do not think until I get home.