A crippling ugliness in a beautiful world, lunchtime doors are thrown wide and the system coughs, clears a mucous throat and spits them out for an hour of moderate freedom while it sits, nervously eyeing profit margins until, with an intake of stale breath, lures them back before softly slamming the well oiled automatic doors behind.
Saw a tide line of collars cutting into soft downy necks at the mid-day supermarket checkout while an endless wipe clean conveyor parades guilty secrets past a subtly analytic computer. Noticed the absurd relationships in a lunch of diet pasta salad with non-fat cheesy dressing and six ounces of individually portioned hundred chocolate creamy heaven gateaux, surgically cut in a twenty degree wedge, with a collapsible plastic forkette and hygienic wipe cleverly included. The importance of clean fingers.
Perching heavily on municipal benches thoughtfully provided within an easy distance, see the slats easing depressions into fluid contours of hard striped clothes, listen to the clickety click of transparent plastic packages that double as crockery and, when scraped clean, allow the guilt to be quietly disposed of, whisked away to the magic world of landfill in readiness for the next round.