silversolitaire: (hmmm)
[personal profile] silversolitaire
Every time I'm taking the train, I amuse myself with reading the graffiti at the walls while I wait. Maybe it's the anthropologist in me that enjoys things like that. For the longest time, there's been this big spray-on at the opposite side of the platform. It said "a witty remark" and it always made me smile. I was blogging about it in my head, every time I saw it, thinking how I'd say "Someone sprayed a witty remark on the wall, literally!" and it made me smile even more. One day I actually blogged about it, but I guess nobody else found it as funny as I did.

Every time I saw this graffiti I promised myself I'd take a photo of it. Just... to keep. I thought someone needs to document this. Keep this for posterity. Last week I actually had a camera with me, but because of circumstances beyond my control I didn't really have the time to snap a picture before I got on the train. Then, when I got home it was dark and I was tired and I just didn't think about it anymore.

This week, I return to the waiting booth and I'm staring at a large plain surface. Someone has painted over all the graffiti. It doesn't really improve the attractiveness of this place as it's grey and dull. All the funny little remarks, the small signs of people who've waited here just like me, are gone. Of course the witty remark is gone as well. I'm struck with an immense feeling of loss.

As I'm waiting for the train, my eyes brush past the now decomposing carcass of the cat. Of course nobody has bothered to remove it from the tracks. My heart aches again as I think that this could be my cat... lost, missed, forgotten. I wish someone would get on those tracks and remove it. I wouldn't want to touch it, of course. But someone else should.

Behind me, someone has shattered a glass bottle on the ground. Brown shards poke up like jagged mountain ridges. For a brief moment I wonder what would happen if I stepped on those. Would they cut through my soles, into my flesh, making me hurt and bleed? The thought seems strangely appealing now, leaving a track of blood as I walk so I could never get lost. A bit like a bizarro version of Hansel and Gretel. My foot hovers above a shard, but I never put it down.

I get lost in thoughts some more and keep waiting for the train. Then it arrives and I take a step back. I hear the crunch of the glass under my shoes as I step into the pile of shards. Nothing happens. I get on the train.
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silversolitaire

February 2009

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