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Rise at six, ready by seven, time for commuter heaven.
Crowded streets full of people, packed so tight it's like walking through treacle.
Pushing and shoving, scowls on faces, individuals picking up paces.
I reach the train in a frantic race looking for a seat or just some space.
Aromas of perfume, sweat and worry, cigarettes, spirits and last night's curry.

Seeing the regrets in their eyes, thinking of the mortgage and wasted lives, direct debits and the repayments on the car, when they'd rather be exploring lands afar.

Catching my reflection in the smoky glass, the sudden realization comes at last.
I've let my dreams fade and wane, I'm just like them, I'm just the same.

by Michael Readdin

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