1 The constraints: 1) No more than
one hour. 2) No more than 20 lines.
The result ? Genius or Not.

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21st October 2010

By Cassandra Moss | 2010 October 21

A girl gets on the bus with two big bags of food from Chicken Cottage. She harangues the bus driver into letting her on for free and takes her seat near the back doors.

Pairs of eyes pulled downwards, sober, determined to get through this journey: for some, their daily routine of going somewhere and getting back seems to contort their bearings in a sideways disjuncture away from the people they want to be. Their senses are mitigated by discomfort and frustration.

For others, no matter where they are, nothing about them changes.

The girl with the chicken is talking on the phone: meeting times, place names, amounts of food. Her speech is dominated by the homogenising sound of the schwa.

Again, the bus stops to open and close its doors. There's a molecular sigh from all involved. If we were collectively stuck on this bus for eternity I imagine it taking years before eye-contact was first initiated by some desperate or delusional individual.

With a judder and a squeal we move on until we're almost stopping once more. It's the predictability of what comes next that makes a situation particularly hard to bear. Like knowing the exact linguistic choice in a frank exchange deradicalises the content and places a burden on the interlocutors to act, to change the standard form. So as the bus opens its doors and a man steps on the foot of the girl with the chicken she says 'Fuck you do that for?' and he looks at her with unnerved disbelief. Her phone rings and that's that. People get off the bus and more people get on.

In six hours or so, in the corridors of sleep, things come out of their hiding places, things of utter inconsequence take up residence and repeat.

Travel, Routine

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