Thursday, 17 April 2008

Oyster Card Why Do You Insist On Tracking Me? But Why?

Do you ever feel like you’re being tracked? In today’s ‘New World Order’ you don’t need anything as physical as a asbo tag on your ankle (even though somemight say you smell like a absolute pot belly, thumb-wrestling chav) to be tracked down. Do you own a oyster card? Then you have answered your own question. The underground is a society of repugnance that unfortunately most of us have to deal with on a daily basis. A depressing sight to any eye ball, everyone customises their own imagination in order to get through the journey by listening to music, reading a book, looking at the advertisements (put their to condition you) or if you’re lucky, watching a intimate concert starring a Turkish busker on the accordion playing that absolute off the boat anthem that goes “dehhh,deh,deh,deh,dehhdeh,dehdehh,dehhdeh,deh,deh,dehhh” with the occasional solo at the end, only if you slap him 50p and a wink. I personally face this ordeal by sketching.

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