1937

Every day as I drive to work I see the same girl on the same street. Her hair is inexpertly dyed blonde and contrasts with the heavy, retro, black framed spectacles she wears. Her gaze downwards, she marches in a determined stride up Stenhouse towards Balgreen, although beyond that I have never seen her. Normally, I catch her just as she crosses the road ahead of me, ahead of the speed camera facing west.

She usually wears a hat of some kind, but I cannot remember any details of them. She carries a blue canvas bag over her shoulder and wears tight striped leggings which are finished off with a pair of red boots with white laces. On top she wears a cardigan over striped t-shirt and a red scarf. Overall, she looks like she has been blown through a charity shop from a cannon.

I have no idea where she is headed or whence she sets out. But most every day I see her on Stenhouse, heading towards Balgreen. If I don’t see her it is something to remark upon. Mostly when I see her I shake my head at her clothing, but most of all I shake my head at the sheer predictability of her movements. The same clothes. The same crossing. The same bag. The same direction. The same time. The same stride. The same downward look. Every day, without fail. Her life is a singularly mapped out routine that never varies, nor does it have any wish to vary. It is her mechanical nature that amuses me.

And then one day it struck me; I only see her every day because I am in the same street, in the same car, in the same direction, heading towards the same destination, at the same time of day nearly every day. We are two dolls being played by an unknown and equally mechanical puppeteer, having our strings worked by a robotic system that never varies in its programming or timing. We are mice in a cage on a wheel.

We are both victims. Realisation of our status has only occurred to me in the last few days. Maybe her downward gaze and intent stride is her way of acknowledging the fact that she too is aware of her fate and that this is her way of dealing with it.

We are both victims. One day I hope to catch her eye.