Sunday Nights

I think perhaps there is a special insight to gain from a city on a quiet Sunday night. People are more relaxed on Sundays during the day, yes, but late Sunday nights have a certain quirk about them. I get the feeling that people are trying to prolong the enjoyment of a weekend that has clearly already finished. The feeling of warmth in the belly you get when you wake up on a Sunday is a distant, almost melancholy, memory by about 11pm, and the entire working week looms ahead. Almost like boxing day for a child who loves christmas - yes, the time is still good, but you can't help but feel a little sad.
Similar to seeing an old white man at a strip club - yes, he is temporarily happy looking at a naked woman, but look at this time frame in context to his existence as a human and feel your excitement dull.


Everyone I encountered late this evening knew what they wanted: happiness from free time. This is something they cannot achieve and are therefore quiet, awkward, a little sad. They appear to move by shuffling slowly. Also appear hungry.

Their surroundings: almost post-apocalyptic as everything is closed and the streets are dirty from weekend action. The people themselves are sparsely spread and emit vibes of desperation. Soft wind blows plastic bags across the street.

I was: carrying a large one-shouldered bag, searching for the place I was to sleep at this evening, wearing Doc Martins, walking in the middle of the road. Wind blowing hair across my face.

Final conclusion: I was, for those short two hours, in a zombie movie.

Final theory: from now on, after 10pm on a Sunday, you are in a zombie movie.