The tram is full again as I board it to work.
I am standing hip-bone to hip-bone with a woman who marauds her mindless curves to roving eyes that are short of sockets,
They rest now, touch-toe-still in molasses,
And those that didn't make it are trapped behind thick Buddy Holly frames.
I think some of them are going the wrong way to the seaside, and some of them want chips already, some are quite possibly the metamorphosis of an Abdul Kebab enjoyed on a Tuesday night.
Some of them are very average people that will love averagely and have average children, and when they get blamed for things it will be an average percent of the blame.
There is a girl in a white Mexican style dress sitting on her boyfriend's knee, and it is a perfect morning to become a ventriloquist.
'We need to eat a gluten free diet!' he says, or she says.
No - 'We need to eat gluten free diets' they say.
Sigh, and it is another long look at the floor of Jackson Pollock shoes, and a spike of a heel in a big toe, and an even bigger: 'THANK YOU' that isn't heard, because it is one of those cartoon thoughts that explodes out of my head in a white cloud.
A Doc Martin boot squeaks next to me because it is fashioned in sarcasm.
The lady sitting in the seat ahead of my bulging crushed thigh is reading a recipe for Spinach Pancakes, and dear Christ I think, I love the taste of spinach.
The colourful tabs from earlier pages peek out and say something mysterious because, 'Ooooh I don't know what tasty treats they might be', but I like this woman's taste, I've decided, so I nosey in her direction for a while longer, until she closes her book (quite probably because of me).
The time is 8:50 and the tram passes through days that once revelled in an Industrial Revolution, because didn't we already know it, Manchester was key to that.
Manchester and its proud work-force.
We are all sighing ourselves simultaneously to the grave.
The aisles part now in possible religious prophecy as the nasal voiced man announces, 'We are now arriving at Salford Quays' like he is biting into onions,
And we are all doing the best we can for the onion-man, as we leave quicker than our thoughts can carry us, and quicker still to board the tram back home.