Wednesday 23 September 2009

 

Running Man

It’s a Saturday night, gone Sunday morning. About 1am, if I recall. Five lanes sweep into Charring Cross, over the motorway and down onto the motorway. The lights are at red, most of the cars stopped are taxis at this kind of time, though there are a few people like me, driving home after a night out. There is a guy wandering along the pavement, till he spots the red light, the stopped cars. Suddenly he breaks into a run, out into the road, to the empty outside lane, and he is building speed. Like he is racing cars going nowhere as he hammers through the junction. And I watch bemused, wondering what that was about, thinking he was lucky not to be hit by cars coming through the other side of the junction, wondering why he didn’t just wait for the crossing lights.

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