An Existential Soaking
ON rainy days, when I sit in the local café and stare out at people frantically forcing their way through the battering wind and rain, I dream of writing an academic paper entitled ‘The Fragility of the Badly-Fashioned Umbrella as Metaphor for the Human Condition’.
I haven’t quite got the synopsis worked out just yet, but I’m sure it would involve the metal spokes of fortune snapping beneath the gusty barrage of existence like broken bones and darkness closing in as the wildly fluttering fabric descends upon the head of its troubled owner like a deadly shroud. As the last vestiges of hope are vanquished by the unforgiving storms of circumstance, both find themselves lying on the side of the road in a tangled heap.
As always, the economic decorum of the Chinese would be heavily scrutinised and space would be given over to those who long for the good old days when umbrellas and men were made of sterner stuff.