8:15am on a Saturday

At 8:15am on a Saturday things are quiet.

The morning is still holding onto the last of the sleepy air as it waits for the sun to show its face. The sun isn’t showing its face today.

At 8:15am on a Saturday it’s raining. People have umbrellas up and they wonder what they are doing out in the rain at this time in the morning. Early am workers, like myself, are wrapped up in scarfs and layers of jackets and coats. We wear all black and have ponytails and tired faces, with cheque pads in our pockets and pens in our hair.

At 8:15am on a Saturday busses are calm. No queues of traffic or road rage, no rush hour or lines of people in suits waiting to get home whilst they hold their jackets over their arms and brief cases in their hands. People get off silent, a quick nod the driver and they tuck their hair into their hood quickly.

At 8:15am on a Saturday I go to work with many other people, we think about how cosy our beds were before we left, we think about how many hours it’ll be before we are back in our warm spots. How we kissed our loved ones goodbye as they were sleeping and secretly wishing we could just crawl back in and avoid the damp morning. But it’ll be all worth it because tomorrow I have a day off.

Happy Blipping.