Commuting

This week I have begun to commute. This is one of the most stressful, most busy, yet most beautiful forms of travel; there are people everywhere. Much like walking in a Toulouse-Lautrec poster, Clapham Junction is full of people. Thin people. Fat people. Ugly people. Old people. Rich people. The beauty of it is hidden in it's anonymity.
In a world where everybody knows everything about everyone else, commuting is oddly lonely, yet full of togetherness. I find myself wondering where people are getting off, where are they going to, who will they talk to today? Yet the general public appear as if they cannot stand to be alone; as soon as you sit down (or stand and look tall - impressive with my personal stature) as if by some James Cameron 'Avatar' style telepathic link, everyone around you will reach for a Blackberry or an iPhone, headphones or a newspaper. We can't stand to be singular, to have those 9 minutes for Clapham Junction to Barnes People Free; forgetting anything outside this metal carriage exists. Sure, the odd person leans back, closes their eyes, but all the while, their eyes move under their lids, fully aware they're going against the expected behaviour and praying no-one's looking.
It's the walking to platforms that's so interesting. Everyone walks so fast. You just know that even if they have 20 minutes before their train is due, they'll rush. It's like a tiny olympic race to Platform 9 to catch the 10:02; you walk fast, you look at no-one, and you keep to the left; like some untaught regime the masses follow. You learn to fit, and you learn to fit fast. Smiling is a no-no, you ignore everyone, even if they look like they need a cup of tea and a chat, simply because right then, it's more important to get in front of the 6'2 Rugby-Player-framed-suited-and-booted-briefcase-clutching-simultaneously-texting-man that is always within reach of your studded cowboy booted steps...