Hard Days Night

I’m watching a band play. A woman band leader talks me through the other band members. An elderly lady saxophonist. Young men, some of them immigrants, with day jobs in construction. They play inside a large tent, a version of “Hard Days Night” that starts off differently to the original. At the chorus, the crowd join in, at deafening volume. 
As they finish and pack up, I talk to the band leader again. They’re thinking of packing it all in. They aren’t making enough money. I tell them about friends who teach music for a living, but still sometimes need a day job. We walk along a pavement. The space above us getting smaller. I crawl around a corner, and heave off the restricting roof above me. I stand up. The roof is shelving. I apologise to a dozing black cat I’ve disturbed. 
I’m looking at my phone. In trying to decide whether to jail break it, as a way to analyse it’s cryptography. I read a paper tutorial. I decide not to, it’s my work phone. 


What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s