Class

You
could be forgiven
for thinking
that
there is no
class
left
in the world.

But
it is there,
buried
in the ground
like
forgotten
jewellery.

Waiting.

Waiting 02

The old man in the corner of the waiting room had enormous, calloused hands, as ugly as I’ve ever seen. He was comfortable with them though; he sat bolt upright, great posture and a noble look. Based on my current whereabouts, I would guess ex-Royal Navy. I couldn’t take my eyes away from his hands; they were something special, seemingly twice the size of mine. Back when valves and levers needed wrestling with, when machinery rusted solid and needed wrenching back into use, hands like this would have been king. I couldn’t quite imagine him using a mobile phone or sending an email. Timely appendages I guess, both his and mine.

Waiting 01

I was sat in a waiting room across from an old lady who was all pearls and white hair. She was reading a daily women’s magazine, you know the type. It hung lifeless and over-thumbed in her shiny wrinkled hands. It was probably months out of date. On the cover, in bright yellow lettering, it read “SEX ADDICT”. Trying not to giggle only made it worse.