Unhappy conformist

My train left its far western Melbourne station at 7.50am. It was filled with commuters going (mostly) to office jobs. This morning a singer joined our train and sang until he got off at North Melbourne. He wasn’t a very good singer, though neither was he very bad.

No-one seemed to show annoyance at his singing. Nor did anyone show pleasure or even amusement. (I did feel a slight twitch in my lips when he launched into a 40 year old Smokie song.)

We were tens of faces with dead expressions. We were robotic. It was as if he wasn’t there.

Where was the human spirit?


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