Everyone has a story to tell... what's yours?                                                                          

Strangers... you are surrounded by them... 

Or so it may seem?

For what you may not realise is that the man who sat opposite you on the bus this morning, currently dates one of your old high school teachers; or the girl who just served you your cheeseburger, is currently having an affair with your cousin’s husband. And the old woman sat over there; you see her, the one in the corner of the cafe stirring her tea? Well she once used to host wife-swapping parties where your grandfather and grandmother met most of their best friends.

And what of the man who delivers your milk in the morning? Did you know that he owns a lampshade woven from the flayed skin of that friend of your sister, the one who went missing in 2006? Or that the hairdresser you’ve been using for the last four years has a voodoo doll of your Auntie Beryl? It may go a long way to explaining why she has suffered from bouts of sciatica all these years.

I think what I’m trying to say, is that there really are no strangers; just people who haven’t yet been introduced...

...for how can someone be a stranger if they are already inexplicably and inextricably entwined into your life?

Subpages (1): Tales from the City