It was an unseasonably hot afternoon. I finished my workout at a fitness club and hurried back to home for a shower.
I walked down the precipitous Elizabeth Street, where dense traffic emptied onto Pitt Street, Central. The cacophony of car horns and audible traffic signals for the blind reached a deafening crescendo, drawing everyone’s attention to the busy crosswalk that marked the start of George Street.
There, pedestrians built up along the curb and started unseeing at their mirror image on the opposite side. Buses and delivery trucks pushed forward in every direction and shook the ground like a wildebeest migration. Dispassionate traffic lights changed at even intervals, trapping and releasing machines and men competing for speed and space.
I stared at the crowd and wondered why people were rushing. Suddenly, the bell tower of central station started to ring in my head - it was lunchtime in Central.
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