the past is always present

I stepped back a century this morning, waiting for my bus. The hoardings and neon had transformed into their hand-painted beginnings. The air got smokier, heavier. There was a clank of metal meeting metal from the many shipyards dressing the banks of the Clyde. Laughter hooting from the Steamie. And headscarves and hats: bunnets and bowlers on every heid. The trundle sound CLICK CLACK of a tram shoogling its way down the cobbled streets. Ally Bally Ally Bally Bee, sitting on yer mammy's knee .. a group of weans singing, a newspaper boy crying out the headlines.. CLANK CLANK then SHSHSHSHSH .. the hydraulic sigh of a bus' brakes and I was back. It was Wednesday in the 21st century and I was heading for my work.