On his diurnal morning pilgrimage to work, sometimes his eyes were wide awake to register happenings around. Today was this day.
There was a girl with coffee, spilled coffee on her snow-white sneakers, which were current haute couture of this generation.
She tried to erase the coffee marks using a tissue, for what were white sneakers sans their white glow?
He sat surrounded by daily commuters, mostly engaged religiously to their smart phone screen, among the cacophony of apps and data. A bright shaft of sun illuminated their plebian shenanigans, revolting against their machine, and trying it’s best to get their attention off their artificial lighting, and all it got was squinted eyelids in response.
Michael Chabon had been his constant companion for almost two weeks now. The book, though short like a novella, was ” a natural exuberance and extravagance of Chabon’s writing is matched by his dazzling wit”, as Sunday Telegraph has noted.
It provided a certain solace and nutrition to his senses starved of prose & verse, but abound with automation tools and career/soul searching
The metro moved through the stark contrasting world on either side, as seen through its windows. Greens of Dover juxtaposed to cemented high rises, on opposite windows.
They descended at Buona Vista. A diffident Chinese teen, adjusted his coiffure subconsciously, while passing by cute European teenagers. For such was Singapore, a complex amalgam of countries and continents, merging in this giant 740 square kilometer cauldron of dreams, identities and life.
“One north “, the automated voice announced.
And thus began his work day.