I've got a poem for ya. "You are an idiot, You are a bitch, You shit me to tears, ...I'm goin' down the pub."
- Idiot Box (1996)
Swarms of high vision vests flock to the steps, and even the junkies look like they have a place in society when they wear one.
The faint drone of headphones and ringtones as you walk up into the station, remind you that you are only a guest cameo in someone else's movie.
The ticket inspectors remain vigilant near the turnstiles, their badges proudly reflecting the mock tears of a woman caught using a concession fare when not entitled.
The train isn't much better, everyone seems heads down, absorbing the glow of their smartphones or tuning out by reading the free propaganda disguised as a newspaper, handed out for free before they board.
