Day 78

A woman jams her buggy into the right hand side of the escalator, trying to manoeuvre the lumbering bulk alongside a series of unyielding bodies. You smile at the child strapped in, opening and closing its fists. Hello, you say as you walk pass. Hello, hello, as you march down the steps. The air in the tube station is thick. You have a briefcase, swing it as you saunter. I’m behind you, direct you to a train. Then the baby comes by again and we say, Goodbye, goodbye. The mother is unaware, busy wheeling her child through streets of people.

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