This is a short piece I wrote last week in one sitting whilst waiting for a meeting time to arrive. If I recall correctly it was written as a quick observation practice but other than that, no specific reason. I'll probably refer back to it in the future as a reference to a new piece.
In the meantime, here it is, pretty much exactly as it was written by hand.
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It sounded like a low hum. A grumble. There were no in-between silences or sweet sounds, just a grumble. If you wanted a quiet holiday this wasn’t the ideal location.
Around me people spoke on their ‘phones and walked within their own shells. These were important people in their own rights. They had places to go, people to see. However, every one of these important people was just an ant in a huge society of workers.
On the outskirts of the hum was the rattling of machinery destroying concrete and the odd expensive car going past, releasing poisonous gases into the air. Trees lined the streets and occupied the communal parks. Birds spoke to each other, but I could still hear the destruction of concrete and the construction of buildings.
The sounds were comforting. I knew I belonged here. I was in my new home. I was in the metropolis, the city, London.
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The "ants" description came from the naturistic notion of there being hundreds of ants in a nest, walking around, working.
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