The flâneur

The sun is setting, yet the sky is on fire. Wisps of white streak across the ochre horizon. The slow crawl back home has begun. The cars beneath me seem stranded, isolated. People sitting alone with their thoughts. Although only separated by a few meters, some glass and steel, they are each living their own individual experience. I lean against the rail and peer out. The maze of cars twists and turns before getting lost in the trees in the distance.

To my right are the mountains. Nature and man live harmoniously here. Suddenly, a whistle. Screeching. The train pulls in behind me, and the doors open. People stream out, careful to avoid each other. Eyes averted. Headphones in. Hushed tones speak into black phones. Like robots, they form a queue and tap their cards on the tall machines. The beeps blend into the static of engines and squeal of dirty brakes. They make their way up the stairs.

A young woman walks quickly by. Her pumps clack on the pavement. The lights flicker on, and an orange hue is cast onto the footbridge. A car beeps, angered voices follow, gestures exchange, and the cars move on. A wave of people brush by me. A family. Two parents, three kids. The kids bounce off each other, unaware of their own presence. The parents follow closely behind, holding hands. They share a tired smile. Behind them, a skulking teenager. Loud headphones cover his ears. He nods imperceptibly to the beat; his arms swing freely as he steps with a false bravado. He sees me looking at him. A stare down, who will denounce their masculinity first? A small smile and I look past him.

An older gentleman grips the handrail and shuffles towards me. He hunches over, looking down as if calculating where to place each foot. The buff of his worn shoes almost reflect the light, polished as they are. I wonder where he has been and where he is going? Does he share his stories? Does anyone listen? He is now a metre away. I stand to the side, allowing him free passage. He doesn’t acknowledge me, just shuffles onwards. The sun has now set, no more ochre in the sky. The footbridge is empty; the traffic is no longer.