Sirens scream through opening up.

On the side of a bus, an advert for “PeterRabbit 2″. I wonder why Beatrix Potter never thought of a snappy title like that? Others come to mind. Crime and Punishment 2 – this time its personal!” ;”The Bible – you’ll believe a man can fly!”; “1984 – the romcom”…
The buses are now filling up. Jammed at rush hour. By the bus stop, a neat row of three PCR COVID tests left on the wall as a warning.

Outside Hendon Magistrates Court a huge bloke with a red angry face and the quickly flicking eyes of a minder looks montaged into a tight fitting electric blue suit as he walks towards his date with nemesis. A nervously harassed looking lawyer in dusty grey trundles a wheely suitcase full of Court documents, looking to right and left as though he thinks someone might jump out of the bushes and hit him.
The Vaccination Centre on Sunday night, as J went in for her second jab, was heaving. The euphoric vibe of the first wave replaced by a quick walking jerky nervousness. Alarm in eyes. Cars jammed and cutting each other up. Quick recourse to jarring horn blasts and angry glares. No longer the celebration of rare human company; contentment with any social contact at all, but a sense of others as potential threat; a society stretched to its nerve endings.
A similar disturbance among the crows in the park opposite, floating and tacking up and around each other like black ash from a fire; away from a slowy plodding old Labrador, all golden heavy jowels, too tired to bother having fun scattering them, just proceding on its way at the regulation 2 miles per hour in a way that can only be described as “dogged”. 

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