In the tube

There he is sitting in the tube, Netsky the late night presence pounding the whole way to the bar, at about the same time he began to think about going there for a beer. In fact, he has finished it. Maybe he will have a second one, he wonders, as he happily heads to the tube station, after the third. There are one hundred students, sitting not far from him, not completely awake but awake enough to take some notes on what is being explained, awake enough due to the hanging earphones while he sips coffee between a bright conversation. Did he listen the whole song? Can’t really tell. What matters is: Did he enjoy the conversation? Was the coffee cold? Or even had one? This he is wondering on his way home from a tiring lab’s class. According to chemistry alcohol is a solution, so to the bar he heads, checking his facebook, while asking for a beer. The music there is good, ‘so was the company’ plays on his mind with ‘Puppy’. Time seems to be moving fast, as indeed it is, except when he is on that class. Someone calls his name, he goes for a coffee for a couple of hours before studying a bit, or a few beats from the song on the bar. An exam tomorrow, a few hours without closing his eyes tonight. Another coffee is welcomed, maybe next week he will visit is hometown. Students fill the tube on his way to uni, another class. Before the last stop he realizes, can’t really remember when he last slept, he thinks rubbing his eyes and getting ready for the organic chemistry class. And before understanding why, there he is again, sitting in the tube.

The pub on the corner

There’s a pub on the corner
And I know what I’m going to find
Sad people who are barely dressed
But keep wearing a smile-
Looking everyone in the eye-
Not allowing people to escape-
From the small conversation
That almost sounds taped.

Ladies cross their bare legs,
And intentionally loudly laugh
the cup of wine that fills their hands-
Is used to fulfil the missing half.
When there’s no football game running,
And a guy is there by himself,
His problems are drunk off
Until his only worry lays in the empty shelf.
And those habitual clients,
who already have beer in their veins
can barely walk to the counter
But the usual order remains.

There’s a pub on every corner
In this city of empty souls
And I wonder if what this city gives
Is better than what it stole.