St George’s Hall

Paul Walsh
Passing St Georges Hall, while sitting calmly, on a seat, in the bus that was taking me home, was a strange experience.

Viewing the old building through the matrix of rain droplets on the window, made it seem like an anchor in time, unchanging and constant. I streaked past it at 20mph faster than the horse and carts that were popular when it was built. I resisted the use of the free wifi that would allow me to talk with anyone in the country in that moment.

Where was I?

I felt I was in the eye of a storm of human development, watching one of its trophies pass me by as I rode another to who knows where.