[tweetmeme source=”awindram” only_single=false]Heathrow, Sunday:
I could see them coming; wobbling and rolling their way out of arrivals. An advance guard for a planned invasion of central London where they would disable the city with their unwelcome, faintly disgusting, enthusiasm and exburance for everything and anything. They claimed to be American anglophiles: hefty, corn-fed anglophiles wrapped in stretch denim, but as I looked into the deadness behind their eyes, I saw it was all a lie; they were unblinking, unconvincing simulacra of humanity. What did they want? Why were they here?
They were here for ‘It’ they said. ‘It’ was going to be so exciting. They had been waiting for ‘It’ for a long time. Now ‘It’ was nearly here. Of course they had to come for ‘It’. How could you not travel for ‘It’? ‘It’ was going to be magnificent. ‘It’ would move you.
They held their arms open. Tried to usher me towards them, tried to make me one of them.
“‘It’ will be moving. ‘It’ will make you cry tears of joy.”
“What is ‘It’? When is ‘It'”!? I screamed.
“‘It’ is Friday”, they intoned, surrounding me. “The countdown starts. ‘It’ begins.”
And darkness fell around me, and around London.