Yesterday on the bus, I forgot what I looked like. Surrounded by people, I made mirrors out of their eyes and saw myself as I imagined they saw me.
There are two kinds of people in the world; those who look through the window to see to see their own reflection, and those who look through the window to see what is outside.
Isn’t there something poetic in the way the commuters swing – listlessly but in perfect unison – with the lurching movements of the train? They ignore each other with an almost passionate conviction, but are thrown in all the same directions, reminded constantly that they are all vulnerable. All in the same car.