Wednesday, 23 June 2010
The people of another city unite in their existence. They work hard and raise a smile, walk through sun lit streets in hot, dark suits wishing the day was bleak and that the sun would save itself for Sunday. They stand in trailing job centre queues failing to see the way forward of the council motto or of the solicitor tightening his belt. They pick up their pension with a smile and a joke for a friend but with the knowledge of time to justify contempt. They drive the bus and get thanked by those who wait. They pour another pint with a welcoming grace and a reminder of the warmth of company. They take part in a hedonistic downing of tools, knowing Monday will come but unwilling for the rest of the day to be anything like it.