Rantglass - because that's how things are.

Heart on a string.

Long queues snake around the neighbourhood like thin, burning rods of red and yellow, inching forward ever so slowly albeit with shuddering halts and jttering squeaks; a congregation that, to the uninformed, would have been a rather curious phenomenon on a weeknight.

Out-of-sync beeps and impatient honks rattle through the cool evening; an unsolicited symphony brought about by many – young and old, rich and poor, housewives and husbands, sparkling-white teeth and cleanly-pressed suits – towards one common aim.

Oh, yes – everyone knows where they are going to tonight, before the clock strikes midnight:

The petrol station.

Details of this entry.Wednesday, June 04, 2008, filed under Musings.
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