Post by StrathWriters on Nov 19, 2009 10:49:40 GMT
A grey sky hangs over Glasgow and the cold morning air blows in your face. As freezing droplets of rain periodically batter you, you shiver and wished you’d put an extra layer on, preferably a waterproof one. Everyone on the drab grey street looks the same as you do: cold, wet, and running to a schedule. No one is enjoying a leisurely stroll today, not with so many puddles to walk around. You glance up at the green man at the crossing before you and cross over without having to break step.
You weren’t out here by choice. If you had your way… Well, you don’t need me to tell you, I’m sure you know what you’d be doing instead of briskly walking through the sodden damp streets of an almost permanently dull and grey city. Seeing your destination ahead, you pick up your pace and approach Central Station.
There’s a fairly large crowd, as you usually expect there to be, walking in, out, and past the station. George square may be the city centre’s place to sit, but central station was the place to keep moving, one direction or another.
Everyone seems slower today though, like they’re just not putting the usual effort into their busy bustling around each other. Even the taxis seem sluggish, as they lazily shuffle up to the drop off point, depositing their weary passengers before meandering away with new bodies, yawning with fatigue.
You pass it all by and enter the station, basking in the ever so slightly less cold air. Things inside also seem utterly normal. You first glance at the huge hanging departure board that hangs from the station’s infrastructure of beams and girders. It helpfully tells you the time, but all of the train information is garbled. You frown at this inconvenience, as you can’t remember the exact time of the train you’re meant to get, or what platform it’s due to depart from. All you know is that you’re travelling to Motherwell, because you promised your friend you would. You wonder what there’s going to be in Motherwell that you wouldn’t find here. All you have to go on is text message saying “It’ll be great!”
A tannoy announcement begins with a soft musical tone, before a stressed voice apologises for the fault in the departure display, saying it will be fixed momentarily. The voice also mentions that the train from platform one is about to leave so hurry up. They don’t say it’s going to Motherwell so you don’t particularly listen to the rest of the announcement. Since you don’t know which platform will take you on your way yet, you look around the station floor.
A handful of people are anxiously staring at the departure board, willing it to change with their fixed, unblinking, rather desperate looking eyes. Others are waiting around with a more relaxed complexion, obviously on time. They are either smiling smugly at themselves for avoiding the stress of rushing, or looking despondently at their own feet; depressed that they arrived so early and allowed boredom to sink in.
You wander aimlessly around the station, waiting for news of the display. The rest of the passengers in waiting are at the various stalls and shops littering the station like hypnotic leeches, drawing in patrons with the smell of coffee and the promise of tabloid gossip, sucking away at everyone’s money while all they want is to catch a train in the next quarter hour. You spot one old lady fiddling with small change at a news stand, her large straw bag discarded on the ground beside her. Sticking out of it is a much larger purse than the small penny pouch she was drawing silvers out of, and in this purse was a very conspicuous bundle of notes. It seemed rather careless in fact, because no one was looking after such a vulnerable amount of money.
Something else then catches your eye. A seemingly empty photo booth’s light is blinking repeatedly. At first you think someone is taking pictures with the curtain open, but as you get closer, you realise that the booth is empty and the flashes are in a repeating sequence. Three short flashes, then three longer flashes. You wonder if it’s a fault or if it’s some kind of message…
Just then, the tannoy comes on again, the chime somehow sounding triumphant in it’s two tone jingle. The voice takes pleasure in announcing that the departure board is fixed, trying to make it sound like they fixed it, and didn’t break it in the first place. You glance at the screen and see clearly that your train is due to leave from the lower level in ten minutes…
The old lady is still counting out small change! That wad of cash is just asking to be stolen, and you don’t say no to polite requests like that: Turn to page 2
You have plenty of time and that photo booth intrigues you. You decide that you can check it out for a couple of minutes: Turn to page 3
You really don’t feel like getting distracted up here. You head to the lower levels to make sure you catch the train on time: Turn to page 4
You weren’t out here by choice. If you had your way… Well, you don’t need me to tell you, I’m sure you know what you’d be doing instead of briskly walking through the sodden damp streets of an almost permanently dull and grey city. Seeing your destination ahead, you pick up your pace and approach Central Station.
There’s a fairly large crowd, as you usually expect there to be, walking in, out, and past the station. George square may be the city centre’s place to sit, but central station was the place to keep moving, one direction or another.
Everyone seems slower today though, like they’re just not putting the usual effort into their busy bustling around each other. Even the taxis seem sluggish, as they lazily shuffle up to the drop off point, depositing their weary passengers before meandering away with new bodies, yawning with fatigue.
You pass it all by and enter the station, basking in the ever so slightly less cold air. Things inside also seem utterly normal. You first glance at the huge hanging departure board that hangs from the station’s infrastructure of beams and girders. It helpfully tells you the time, but all of the train information is garbled. You frown at this inconvenience, as you can’t remember the exact time of the train you’re meant to get, or what platform it’s due to depart from. All you know is that you’re travelling to Motherwell, because you promised your friend you would. You wonder what there’s going to be in Motherwell that you wouldn’t find here. All you have to go on is text message saying “It’ll be great!”
A tannoy announcement begins with a soft musical tone, before a stressed voice apologises for the fault in the departure display, saying it will be fixed momentarily. The voice also mentions that the train from platform one is about to leave so hurry up. They don’t say it’s going to Motherwell so you don’t particularly listen to the rest of the announcement. Since you don’t know which platform will take you on your way yet, you look around the station floor.
A handful of people are anxiously staring at the departure board, willing it to change with their fixed, unblinking, rather desperate looking eyes. Others are waiting around with a more relaxed complexion, obviously on time. They are either smiling smugly at themselves for avoiding the stress of rushing, or looking despondently at their own feet; depressed that they arrived so early and allowed boredom to sink in.
You wander aimlessly around the station, waiting for news of the display. The rest of the passengers in waiting are at the various stalls and shops littering the station like hypnotic leeches, drawing in patrons with the smell of coffee and the promise of tabloid gossip, sucking away at everyone’s money while all they want is to catch a train in the next quarter hour. You spot one old lady fiddling with small change at a news stand, her large straw bag discarded on the ground beside her. Sticking out of it is a much larger purse than the small penny pouch she was drawing silvers out of, and in this purse was a very conspicuous bundle of notes. It seemed rather careless in fact, because no one was looking after such a vulnerable amount of money.
Something else then catches your eye. A seemingly empty photo booth’s light is blinking repeatedly. At first you think someone is taking pictures with the curtain open, but as you get closer, you realise that the booth is empty and the flashes are in a repeating sequence. Three short flashes, then three longer flashes. You wonder if it’s a fault or if it’s some kind of message…
Just then, the tannoy comes on again, the chime somehow sounding triumphant in it’s two tone jingle. The voice takes pleasure in announcing that the departure board is fixed, trying to make it sound like they fixed it, and didn’t break it in the first place. You glance at the screen and see clearly that your train is due to leave from the lower level in ten minutes…
The old lady is still counting out small change! That wad of cash is just asking to be stolen, and you don’t say no to polite requests like that: Turn to page 2
You have plenty of time and that photo booth intrigues you. You decide that you can check it out for a couple of minutes: Turn to page 3
You really don’t feel like getting distracted up here. You head to the lower levels to make sure you catch the train on time: Turn to page 4