Member-only story
I Don’t Want The Old Normal, I Don’t Want The New Normal, I Want The Abnormal
A vision of London after the apocalypse
Halogen lights illuminate the bloodless mannequins in their pricy beige garments in the window of Samsøe & Samsøe, but the store is empty.
A singular shopper is darting down the street, staying close to the wall while clutching her shopping bags as if they’re amulets she hopes will repel the bite of the howling October wind.
The metaphysical tumbleweed blowing down Beak Street is tangible.
As I walk through the streets of Soho I can’t shake the uneasy feeling that the apocalypse has either already been here, has already torn through these streets and left them subtly changed, or that this is in fact it; this is the anti-climatic apocalypse that no script writer or novelist has ever envisioned.
There’s a name for this hollow edifice is what used to be. It’s called the New Normal.
I don’t know about you, but I’m not convinced the New Normal that we’re all supposed to be so excited about and grateful for is what I want to be doing with my life. I’m feeling lukewarm about it. Why? Because the New Normal looks deceptively like the (if you will) Old Normal.
