Tube trains rattle past the busy junction, some baring battle wounds of faded graffiti, the name tags of owners having long since dropped the can and picked up a suit and tie. The sun catches and shines on the carriage, signalling a lost message from the heavens. The moving trains capture my gaze, my mind travelling for a quick second along the same rail, and then the tube is beyond the window frame, out of my world.
I count buses – seven today caressing the kerb, all with adverts for a male deodorant telling us that it is ‘new, dry and sensitive’, conjuring images of metrosexual men with floppy hair, men who wouldn’t be seen dead on the bus.
A helicopter goes past, cutting the clouds in two. Criminals or traffic, I think, as it disappears behind the office blocks that gather and crowd the station. Blank windows stare back at me, reflecting yet more glass panes until you forget which is real and which is false. Some have strip lighting; some show the backs of a computer monitor. Most look completely empty, the recession clearly announced on the ‘To Let’ signs sagging from the exterior.
I can see two trees from my window – both sporting the grey green worn by vegetation close to industry. They seem marooned in amongst all the brick, glass and concrete. Birds occasionally circle and swoop from the tree nearest me – pigeons and magpies, scroungers and thieves. A plane rumbles high above, coming or going? Departing or arriving? I make a stab at the direction, arriving, I think, and then an email flashes and my moment is over.
What is life like from your window?