Sunday morning is always, always, desolate. I'm usually I'm sure the only person awake, anywhere, ever. The night buses are still running. There are no deliveries of whole, dead animals that I need to avoid to walk to the tube station. It's light out, but sort of only just. The sun is up, and awake, but hasn't had it's coffee yet. I usually haven't either. Where I live is usually oddly devoid of birds, comparative to the rest of this city. That's as many as I've ever seen; morning birds, I couldn't sleep anyway.
The morning I decide to document the hours of nothing that happen, a jogger is in my way. He's probably wondering why I'm taking his photo when I wasn't, really, he just ended up in it. I prefer to think that he's wondering why he isn't the only person out like he probably usually was.
I was actually on my way to work this Sunday. Only people whose jobs are to actually
do things are ever up at that time on a weekend.
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