A Collaboration

Piccadilly line passing Leicester Square and a million people push in to the carriages drunken out of their heads, laughing, talking to everyone around, boy-chatting girls half naked falling off their feet from the excited abundance of alcohol and God knows what else. I am surrounded by people that cannot see me, so pissed that alcohol clears their vision and I blip on to their drunken radar, all talk and smiles. So I ask myself: am I the same? Do people perceive me as I perceive people? Sadly, the answer is probably... yes. But I try. I smile. I give up my seat. I always say please and thank you and excuse me. My friend Monica came over from Texas; typical American; happy, jolly, bubbly, smiley, chatty and the like. We were on the tube, the quiet juxtaposing the busy, full of people. The girl next to Monica was happily reading the paper when out of the clear sky blue, Monica chirps 'Hey! Do you know what's up in town tonight?' I turned red; paper-girl, purple. Speechless, she managed a whisper: 'I don't know. But… you can have a look in the paper, if you want'. I wanted to pretend that I was there alone, knowing no-one. And then I thought, get over yourself! Sure it's London, but we are free to be the way we want to be even if it means challenging the status-quo. I say no more.

words by emelié, arranged by john