The treadmill

I wait for my coffee. I’ve given up the soy and am back to the skinny cappuccino. Bugger congestion and my lungs. I’m joining the consumptive poets.

The guy selling the Big Issue stands holding it aloft. He makes no further sales pitch. Standing straight-backed at the entrance to corporate Hades-on-Southbank, he tries to meet the eyes of prospective clients.

 But many won’t meet his eyes.

They are no happier than you, I want to say, those who flow into their buildings on an invisible treadmill. But he probably already knows this.

I want off this treadmill.

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5 responses to “The treadmill

  1. Have you tried just pointing out the treadmill? I’m always tempted to bleat like a sheep on escalators, but maybe that’s just me…;)

  2. As suggested by me pressing the like button, I really enjoyed this. My one critique: Perhaps alter the last line to be less specific. For some reason, it took me out of it. I’d like to feel this desire instead of being told of it.

  3. “hades-on-southbank”…great stuff.

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