Every morning I wake up, leave home and become a part of thousands of tons of human meat rearranged by London Underground around the megalopolis. At least participation in this meaningless exercise doesn't make me proud of myself, unlike those who move their panzer, tons of metal with them at the borders of it. We share rides in buses when we go to gyms - to do the same as we do at work, to push pedals of a bike that doesn't move - and after taking poisons in the dark, crowdy, harmfully noisy bunkers. The most meaningless evil is not megalopolis itself, but its borders in such highly urbanised areas as South East England, the most densely populated spot on Earth.
I felt ashamed and disgusted about 450,000 people that stopped using Underground after the explosions. How can they fear so much for their mostly worthless lives? How can anyone seriously believe in this artificial, dead, stupid existence: sitting all day on your bum at work - going to supermarkets to buy plastic food - going to gym to run on an electric treadmill - going to some place to poison yourself out of realisation of it all with others like you - jet-propelling yourself twice a year to some destination less and less worth visiting.
When the time will come for us to die, perhaps we'll be amazed at the thought that visits a girl who just lost her virginity in not the most successful way: And that was it? Human life, with which everybody is so preoccupied, that bears such a huge promise, that I dreamed about so many years...

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