Joan sits on the bus, her scarf wrapped tightly around her hair. She jumps when a young man next to her fumbles to withdraw his vibrating phone. She yearns for a time when her fear would be tinged with excitement at the possibilities of connection.
John sits at his desk, his headphones blocking out the humanity around him. He awakens when his manager approaches. The manager just walks by. Unnoticed and unappreciated his defences swell and he vows to ignore the needs of that man.
The Guardian reports that the Japanese youth are choosing to shun sex. This may result in the population reducing by a third by 2060. Apparently they have a preference for designer clothes over the complication of such a messy connection.
Mark manages a team of 48 operators (8 rows of 6). He smiles patronisingly as he watches them, with their headsets on. Sitting on his throne, monitoring their conversations, he keeps them at a distance, denying them the honour of connection. He also sleeps alone.
Anisa works in Shoreditch, at a startup that is never quite enough. Another line numbs the pain of her misfortune. She reminds her colleagues how much crazier it was in “The Valley”. Her gloat denies herself and them connection.
After work we share stories in The Wellington, on the corner of Drury Lane, empathising, the connection is strong despite our despondency. We lament the actions of those who fear the connections that bind us. That can bind us all.