I was on the Horsham train from Victoria this evening. A strange sight caught my attention.
4 people sat opposite me. 2 on the seats to the left, 2 on the seats directly opposite me. Each was engrossed in finger activity of a different but connected type.
Spiky Hair had his 12 inch laptop out and was typing away to the tune of some audible but tinny samba-jazz ryhthmn. Woman was cross-stitching a section of tapestry of a birds on a branch scene. Receding Hair With Frontal Tuft Man was texting destination person some kind of message with such intensity of concentration that I thought the mobile handset would predictably combust. And Undescript Man (usually the ones which escape curiosity and sometimes turn out to be serial psychopaths) was scrolling through toons on his iPod.
Different devices. Same action. Busy fingers needing an outlet. These were good. Mine are of late caressing the delicate designs of Bordeaux glasses.
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