My ultra-personal inner monologue

Slightly off centre

On the train, back from work. It’s 23:44 on a Saturday night and the train leaves in 6 minutes.
My travelling companions are drunk, on alcohol, on life, on some other addictive drug.

My body is tired and sore, having spent time in the gym. A quick trip into the city to visit the gym. It’s unorthodox, but it works for me. My girls are safe, my mind is at ease. They are sleeping, so it’s not a loss: I can go out. Perhaps it’s a bit weird going to gym in London, considering I have the whole of London at my disposal for the evening.

But gym is safe; besides it’s good for me. I finished off the session with a too-big tuna salad.

I’m not the child of Trotskyites, and I wasn’t raised in an Ashram in India, so perhaps I should rather spend my time reading and catching up with the competition? 🙂

Or else my going to gym on a Saturday night is merely a dead give-away of my humble roots? 😉


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