Morning Commute

He arrived at the bank at 8.45am, clutching a series of filled change bags. Once he’d arrived in front of the queue, he realised that there wasn’t much of a queue at all. Instead he saw a street full of bodies lying on the floor, lying in the road, lying by the door. For a minute he considered a massacre, but he began to notice the sound of snoring, the rising of snot bubbles, and the turning and scratching of backs. That morning the world was still asleep, and he watched the dreamers, simply wondering how much change he had.

 

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