Cardiff is misty today, not quite umbrella weather. The people at the pelican crossing over the road get darker and more in focus the closer they get, as if they are walking back through time towards me. If I strain my ears, I can hear the melancholy blare of the slow trains leaving the station. They're carrying people even further back through time, and I can see them getting off at Swansea station a thousand years ago, or maybe Aberdare when it was just a primal forest.
There's a tall boy outside on his phone, I wonder if the signal can get through all that mist? It must be able to, he's still talking. Is he directing the mists, confirming the areas that need to be covered? Is he an accomplice? I doubt it - nobody that tall could be inconspicuous.
The, usually, red brick building looming opposite is dulled to a dark sandy colour - makes me think of stony Aberaeron beach. Apple cores hidden among the pebbles. A jutting arm of the Millennium Stadium suddenly looks like a ship, and now I'm at sea. There are seagull cries overhead anyway, I'm becalmed… but I only have half an hour left. Half an hour before i have to rejoin the other galley slaves at my oar/computer. The black horse could be a black flag, God knows they're pirates.
Pillaging and plundering, just to get fatter and fatter until they can finally own no more.
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