stranger

Gone midnight. The number 12 was mercifully prompt. He was about to wrap himself up in Micah P and watch his night city drift past the windows. The bendy bus was not full. He recognised the woman sitting next to him. She had been at the birthday party too. They hadn't exchanged a word and had never met. Someone had told him she was a photographer.

He removed Micah P. They went through a few preliminaries. All expectation of that lulling movie of a city trip suspended. She was also headed for Peckham. So much small talk already. Talk of films and projects and futures and pasts. Surely they were all small talked out.

She was from Brasil. The South. He guessed, Porto Alegre. She would photograph his friend's rehearsals soon. They talked of how they met their mutual friend. Fuundraising and then... Why not? Do it all in Spanish. Merge in a second language. Make another movie. Talk Tropicalia, curation, politics. On a bus bound for Peckham.

+++

The devised piece, In Transit, is set in an airport. Two strangers meet, exchange. What has been striking about rehearsals is how hard it can be to make that breakthrough. That human communication. Cut through the insulation in which we are wrapped. This must be societal. In other worlds, more fragile, the need to talk is paramount. Travellers talk all the time. Information should be shared. Trust built. The warmth of human contact savoured.