Going to Town

Today I ventured out into town. What wonders are held by 'town'? Shopping, eating out, people to see, places to visit. Wonderful. Town is the place to be and be seen. This is especially the case in the evenings, people dress up to go out. Now, I'm sure I'm not alone with this thinking, but i've noticed that people put considerable effort into their appearance when going out. They drape themselves in layers of clothing, yet still managing to show off more flesh then cotton. Make-up, worn by both men and women looks like it has been applied whilst driving over a cobbled street and jewelry seems to have be selected via the smash and grab approach. Hours of time spent in preparation and still they still manage to archive the look the creepy guy in the office pulls off every dress-down friday. Following this, they drink, combine vomit and sloshed drink to their 'look' before pissing by the roadside on the city ring road.

Town is not only the place to be during the nights. The morning is where it all kicks off (providing the Town sleeps at all). Traffic into the Town moves slowly. To the deaf community, it appears to be a relaxed migration as the automotive boxes progress towards the centre. Town is not dissimilar to a famous blue police box; far to much goes into Town then can reasonably fit in. The explanation is that there is normally as much Town below ground as there is above. Cars stacked in waiting, far below, along with the OCD metro trains which insist on traveling the same routes, all day, every day. Well unless of course the tube is on strike. Now, I'm not one to focus on the small details, but the personification which empowers the tube is immense, it can bring the grand city of London to a halt.

During the middle of the day, on the surface, the 'buzz' really comes alive. As if by clockwork or the changing of the guards, the office shuts down. The photocopier is allowed to print to its hearts content, repeatedly rolling off copies of the secretaries arse. Occasionally, the fax machine will join in, sending a mail drop to all the office's customers. During this lunch break, a miracles increase in sales occurs from foreign markets, especially form Italy. Yet again the bare faced cheek sold and the stocks are high.

Food becomes the centre of interest. Coffee houses are flushed with steam, hair styles return to their 80's frizz. Fish hardly has the time to leave the water, let alone has time to be cooked, so parceled up in seaweed, it is delivered the gut. Salad is fresh and local. Yes local. From the countryside. What do the residence of the countryside consume? Well, Iceberg lettuce from the Netherlands and Spanish tomatoes. Local produce in the countryside is only local to Earth. Anyway, Town gets fresh, local salad. An hour passes. Food and coffee create a real mix, energy is ready to be released, hammered into the keyboards and touch pads throughout the afternoon. The inevitable indigestion sets in for several individuals so powdery peppermint tablets are swallowed and the pain is removed.

Calls are made, deals are won and lost, paper is torn, shredded, scrunched and sculptured. Alliances are made and broken, history is written, coffee is spilt and then it all comes to an end.

The migration away from the city commences. Cars pull out of the deep hovels, trains pull away from the platform. Buses are missed and caught. A boat may take away a days cargo, planes leave the airport and people treck back to their small square feet which they call home.

Now I'm standing in the city, looking at the cars as they move on out. Red rear lamps shine back at me. Like eyes, they portray an evil knowing within them. "We will be back, to pump your Town with pollution, to knock down a few more pedestrians. We will be back." They slink away, into the the darkness. thousands of evil, red, slanted, frowning eyes stare back, unblinking. Goodbye Town.