Autumn swing

I smell autumn in the air. It's an early evening, I've just left the office. Left the car at home this morning so I could go out tonight and not hold back. The sharp sun is quickly setting. It's not cold yet — though one can smell what's to come.

A bus stop. No one can see it, I realise. No one! Everybody's mesmerised by their mobiles. The large hot bulb is shining right at them and they don't care. Should they?

It's no better on the subway: if it's not a mobile than it's certainly a Kindle or iPad. Am I any better? No, I'm not — but I've been trying. Hard.

Got rid of Facebook. Stopped tweeting. Instagram is left in the dark, too.

Meeting people instead is ambitious. Lunches, dinners, drinks. Even emails seem old-fashioned. Funny how fast the world evolves.

Thirty minutes left till my next meeting. Walking in a park, trainspotting, taking occasional moody photos I won't share with anybody.

I feel slightly displaced. But hey, those feelings subside as I kiss her neck gently when falling asleep. This has always worked for an autumn swing.