Ayad is running, barely catching his breath. He doesn't wait for the WALK sign to light up as he cross the roads. Apparently, he took the exciting term "fashionably late" somewhat too seriously. Not so exciting now, as I'm running for my life, he thought. It's only natural; if you're about to miss your bus to London which equates to a new bus ticket which will cost a certain amount of money
and to an unbelievable number of people; money loosely equates to life;
you are just running for your life. Isn't that what everyone is doing? Everyone like Aad, at least. Somehow it's easy to assume that there is someone else out there just like him; lost and ordinary; running around chasing, well, life.
He is supposed to be a man, but somehow the series of events that he went through, makes him think of himself as a lesser man; a boy.
........
Ugh. Ayad made that sound, in a draggy, low pitch, as he got up. What a narration, he thought. What a fucking dream -
he wished it was.
Like ice to water, water to vapor, we change; but we remain the same
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