The guy in front of me has headphones on. The music is really loud and I keep feeling the music is escaping. The notes seem to run along his should and down his arms before jumping high into the carriage. Once out they like to sprint and leapfrog and tumble over and perform acrobatics on top of morning heads that nod and bounce with the rhythm of the train.
I find it hard to concentrate this morning; I am drifting in and out of consciousness, trying to latch on to a train of thought that will pull me into the day - or as my spell check claims, I am frothy. The notes seem to gather around me, on the floor and seats and climbing up onto the windows. They are playful, as if ready for the weekend, and unconcerned about the trivialities of life.
I try not to make eye contact as now is too early - if I am to make my way through the day this motley crew of minuets, staves, crotchets, notes and minims must not be allowed to distract and divert me from the task I must perform.
Blinking I confront the hallucinatory nature of this scenario and briefly stop to consider this image as voice(s), or other symptoms of unhealthy thinking. But then a note somersaults from the seat and delivers two twists and a pike before landing in scale.
This bout of surrealism is my way of exercising - some pound the gym, flexing and stretching muscles that are really beyond their evolutionary sell by date; others test, break and extend their stamina in preparation for the Armageddon that will surely fall. I indulge in whimsy and what if - I provoke my tolerance of what is and what could be through absurdity and extension. This is hard as sleep falls over my eyes, but fortunately dream state and unconscious are there to spot me.
The notes begin to pickpocket the other passengers, and I wonder, with a shudder, what they might find.