5pm, Wynyard Station

A constant stream of faces milling about. Give me a chance. The words are furrowed into their frowns, mouths turned down, disappointment their normality.

Give me a chance.

If only's hang off their coats. The most dangerous words, words that lead directly to unhappiness. What if... and If only... -- how much happier we'd be if those words didn't sneak into our subconscious, unbidden.

Time wished away. I have to be here. I have to be there. How long until the train, the bus, comes. Moments filled planning how to fill other moments.

What would happen if everyone froze, in their tracks, no voices, no movement, and all they could do was acknowledge where they were and how they felt in that exact moment?

Would people's perceptions of themselves change if they suddenly didn't have the image of a future self to satisfy? If the need to prepare for the next moment was gone? Would we like ourselves exactly where we were in that glimpse of time? Would the moment make any sense of all if we suddenly took the qualifying future away from it?

A constant stream of faces milling about.