It's a dog's life.

It is. I agree. Every morning, I get up, scratch my arse (pardon the crudeness) and get on with the motions. It's the same. I know I'm doing something, but nothing changes. I am where I am, even as my mind is freewheeling.

But the city is ever alive, moving, sometimes so fast you think you will get run over if you don't step out of its way. Especially when you're so small, they just don't see you. You're quite insignificant. If you stand to one side and watch, though, you see the pieces that make the whole. The people.

It's fun watching people. Reading them, making up your own stories about them. Trying to gauge their problems, real and imagined, wondering why they seem like they're at war with the world, with life.

Ever travel on the bus? Watch people climb in, climb out? Stand beside each other but always drawing in, shrinking into themselves, withdrawing into a cocoon. They tuck their hands closer to their bodies, wrap their bags about them as protection. Why? Why cocoon yourselves even more? In a city like this, a huge, moving, living, breathing behemoth whose presence is so palpable, so isolating and suffocating sometimes, shouldn't you want to touch, feel, reach out for some human companionship? But they don't. Apparently, you can't trust strangers. But if you don't talk to someone, they will always remain strangers, won't they?

I'm not complaining. I like my lot in life. Live it, don't psychoanalyze it. Simplify. What do I really, really need? Food, water, shelter, some fun in life and a few good people around. I have all that. More would be nice, but if not, I have a lot to be thankful for.

Why grow up? I wonder about that too. Everybody seems to be in a damn hurry to grow up. The grass is always greener on the other side. Which is why, I'm guessing, once they do grow up, they look back with nostalgia and wistfulness at the 'days gone by'. They remember their time as little children when they went swimming till they looked like wrinkled prunes, then made sand castles that looked like nothing at all or ate candy till they were sick, or gorged on a gallon of ice cream, and then some more. And walked about aimlessly looking at the graffiti on the wall, simply looking. Just looking. I do that too, a lot. I like it. I also love sticking my head out the window when I'm on a drive. Feel the breeze on my face, feel it tear up my eyes. People in this city do it too, hang precariously by their fingernails as they ride those fast locals and feel the wind whipping past, grabbing their chance to be children again. From Elphinstone to Matunga. Then they get off. And grow up again.

If this is a dog's life, then life must be a bitch.
It's a match made in Heaven.