Night in Canary Wharf

sodium yellow lamps behind a gossamer veil of winter mist, rythmic rumblings of a late night train. people dozing off, people chattering, people whizzing past. where's he going? what was she doing out so late? why does he smile so? each with a past obscured from me and a future lost down the track.

thoughts drift to memories yellowed by the unrelenting time, to friends who are reduced to uni-dimensional, incorporeal spectres. i reach out, arms flailing, plunging into the deep, dark chasm of poignant nostalgia.

i open the window. cold air assails me, jolting me back into reality. the last train passes by. my thoughts are drowned out by the deafening silence. i turn, and dive into the realm of sleep.