Bits and pieces

During rush hour the carriage is packed tighter than my holiday suitcase. Stragglers are shoved in to tiny crevices while the lucky ones sit neatly folded in their seats. I am a chiffon blouse after thought pressed up against a pinstriped suit in a similar predicament. Strangers savouring the intimate details of each other’s lives. Close enough to smell perfumes and aftershaves, smirk at love bites and count pimples.In the evening I study the council houses and apartment blocks of suburbia from my window. So close, like J.J flyover where flowered balconies and sagging clotheslines seem close enough to touch. Here, I cannot touch. So I see. Red walls, kitchen dramas, glowing televisions. Scenes of domestic bliss. Or so they seem from afar. Do they look out as I look in?