Tuesday

Wednesday, train is plowing across the platform, people scurrying across the stairs, up through the aisles, riding rushing this hour towards a desk, a chair, a phone, a never-ending universe within a screen. Only to turn around and ride home, to an empty chair, with a table and a universe emanating from a 35 inch screen. Thursdays are kind days to the younger folk, nights of dreams and dances filled with songs and drink. Fridays are pulsating and alarm clocks ringing, across town are littered with remnants, proof of the previous evening's revolting movements.