The morning cold snapped at the fingers and turned noses into leaking taps.
The cramped commute through London on a Southern Rail train started with panic, followed by barging- nothing unusual. A few of the less broken proletariat ask politely for more room as others revert back to primal instincts and resort to pushing. Dissatisfaction is expressed through impatient grunts and mutters.
The cattle doors close and the journey commences. Insomnia brimmed eyes confront deodorant-free armpits postioned in odd places, and hands and elbows are left with little choice but to touch inappropriately. The carriage is overcast with doom as it hurdles towards various abbatoirs. We hate each other more than we hate them, because lateness is worse than Hell.
*
At work, the computer radiates a blueish- white haze. In moments like these, where Adder's heart has sunk lower than the Marina Trench, he thinks all computers should be fitted with SAD (seasonal affective disorder) lights, either that or we should be allowed to eat a ton of nuts and hibernate for the winter (no one forces a squirrel to work).
Adder sipped green tea and studied the picture in the Guardian. It shows a group of ragtag people standing on a grand balcony, political flags in hand and fists raised. Calling themselves the Autonomous Nation of Anarchist Libertarians (A.N.A.L for short), they had occupied an empty mansion owned by Andrey Goncharenko, a Russian oligarch. Adder found himself intrigued and happy to be taken away from his monotonous labour. Their aims seemed pure- to turn the mansion into a hostel for homeless people while highlighting the number of empty properties in London. Remarkable. Che Guevara and Robin Hood, eat your heart out. Adder needed to know more.
Adder travelled home that day through a cold January evening that turned dark by four. Once in the house, he retreated into his single room like a low caste gnome and, with a cup of red bush tea in hand, he set about trying to make contact.
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I Wonder if God Takes Sertraline?
RandomDecrepit mansions and lost anarchists.... Money turns while Rojava burns...
