As is usual when one is waiting, I decided to pull up my phone's notepad and read some of my past ideas. In light of recently learning about the art of creative non-fiction, I realised this passage fits that genre so I'm sharing it now, as a reminder to myself (if nothing else).
The busy railway terminus is multicultural and bustling with just a fraction of the city's populace. With each train arrival from the underground, another wave of people floods the dimly lit hall, the air alive with the beep and squeal of ticket gates, the drone of conversation, and the low roar of footsteps and luggage wheels. A noisy troupe of children; a small elderly woman; a man with an Ikea box, all pass by, occupied with their own private lives. Umbrellas are in abundance, dripping the excess of our British weather in their bearer's wake. People meet and part in this crushing concourse, with a hug, a wave, a smile. If you are fortunate enough to stand and watch, a whole play of life is enacted before your eyes as a multitude of unique people come and go, their destination unknown, their situation purely guesswork, their conversations heard in snatches. A romance blossoms in the midst of the flow, someone in bright clothing catches the eye, a sudden commotion of friends having fun - unexpected splashes of colour to break up the afternoon grey.
