Interlude

Some days I love leaving the office after dark, the lit trellises of the train station hedging the tinted sky above the bustle of pedestrian traffic, their yellow glow a sharp contrast to the overhanging streetlights, little actinic suns drowning out the electric blues and reds of shop-fronts and brake lights.

I usually walk right across the press of people going to and from the station, a melange of dress styles and ethnic looks like something out of Blade Runner, the curved facades of the nearby buildings a backdrop across which Deckard could hover past practically unnoticed, and I wonder, time and again, if I will ever be able to capture those moments (or any others) in a way that does them justice.

There is a solidity, a sharpness about those moments that has got to be more than my brain unwinding and taking in the sights after a whole day ricocheting off carpeted floors and glass partitions, and I wish I could put my finger on it.