A clear blue sky and two planes crossing it, one after the other, perhaps too close, turning southerly.
As is often, here, at this time, there is talk of politics. Governments this, ministers that, history and security, links to conspiracies.
An older man and a younger man are looking skyward, standing, waiting. One holds a phone, the other a book. Concrete under their feet; jackets zipped, hands gloved; scarves.
“One things leads to another: that’s world events.”
They stand silently, as if alone, fixed upon the planes and their trajectories; one following the other, hoping they are not too close.
MW Bewick 