I was on the District line in London. To be honest I don’t know what line it was because once I descend into the undergound labyrinth of London I lose notions of space, place and time and just hope to come out safely at my destination.
So I was on the tube, traveling a decent speed through the caverns of the city. Afraid to make eye contact with the morbid faces around me I forced myself to control my curiosity of others and stared at the ground. I noticed other’s shoes, socks and the details of the trouser legs. I looked at beaten bags, trash and once read newspapers.
As my gaze grew closer to my feet I felt a sudden loneliness overcome me. Beside my foot was a lone glove. A sad looking beat up glove. Like the sock left in the dryer or a shoe sitting on a wall. I thought immediately to the other half that must be lost too. What misery it must be to evolve together and suddenly, brutally be split. I’m glad I’m not a glove.