It is quite early. I wa doing my head in when I woke trying to tip-toe around not waking anyone, so it was just as good to leave as it was to stay. Preston is ankle-deep in club flyers. At about 8 last night I curled up with Cloud Atlas but without a moment’s warning I fell into sleep. Cannot recall all the dreams, but there was a “segment” involving a motivational speaker called Corl or Corn, his name written in Cyrillic script behind him on a screen. There was a, if you will, nightmarish quality to a dream – almost film like.
The passage of people around me are bored commuter types..Lots of slumped shoulders, slouched feet. No trains, no crackling announcements. Were it not for a newly reborn laziness I would walk it in. As it is, I am the only person around. An idle Virgin train, its head looking like a banana, is all lights-out and silent on a distant, no-longer-used platform. This whole place seems eery, un-naturally quiet. No pigeons. There used to be a cafe near the ramp – it is just a blank unused space now, marked with a drinking bow for dogs – where I used to go on my youthful wanders. They sold microwaved cheeseburgers for £2, and that was a long long time ago. In the morning, these are the hazy memories brought to mind.
I have no plans for the day. Work beckons. All is as was.