rattakiti

When I first arrived In town I thought It's very small Compared to where I came from. Friends Would meet randomly On the streets. It is dusk and The horizon expands Infinitely and The town with its Narrow pathways, Cobblestoned, Turns into a maze. Now that I have Met you that night And still not run into you again, The town becomes Too big it seems Endless, empty.

I walked into a cafe, ordered the usual and idled away. All of a sudden there's this strange feeling welled up: I no longer had this vector in front of me, the vector of going somewhere, pointing from the back where I came and ahead where I was going. Instead, my vector imitated the shape of the window, or became the window itself, no longer piercing forward, but dispersed everywhere on the screen. Unlike the long one dashing through the three dimensions (or four including time) in pushing oneself forward, it followed the passer-bys. It became short, ephemereal, almost two-dimensional. Instead, I became the one who observed the long vectors

There is something strangely hypnotic about watching the rush hour, in the black-coated figures hurrying anonymously past. They walk fast, shoulders hunched, collar up and eyes down. I wonder if they live their entire lives in those mobile fortresses. One woman pauses at the coffee shop window, checking her ruined make-up in the faint reflection and scowls as water soaks her black stockings and high heeled shoes. Somebody's secretary, no doubt. Across from me, an old couple chuckle quietly, reminiscing about their youth, and glance up from time to time to stare at the woman with the dog-eared notebook and pen, wondering what she could be wri