A young man stomps down the street. His eyes are blazing and he is gesticulating wildly. Sweat beads burst from his flushed face like water droplets in a pan of hot oil. His voice, addressing no-one in particular, cuts through the general hum of the busy city street at lunchtime. He is wearing a suit. No-one takes any notice.
Across the road, heading in the other direction, an older man in threadbare tracksuit pants and a baggy t-shirt, mumbles incoherently as he saunters along. The path before him clears as people cross the road or swerve with great exaggeration to avoid him. They fire him filthy looks and the occasional insult.
Each man is lost in his own world. Each, by all appearances barely aware that he is one in a crowd. Each man is battling his own demons in his own way. Yet it is the crowd that passes judgement on who has the right to do so undisturbed.
From my vantage point sitting on the wall, I notice that the older man is wearing a bluetooth headset and holding a mobile phone.
City Observationist 