The drone of the underground train. "Woooh" it goes. The perky voice on speakers announcing, "Dhoby Ghaut Interchange. Please mind the platform gap." My Taiwanese ballad singer croons about Superman in my headphones. 3 out of 7 sitting opposite me dozing off, lulled by the comforting drone of the train, transporting them to their destination. Perhaps they are snatched too early from the cradle of a cool rainy morning bed.

The lady beside me was reading a tribute on the local free newspaper on the late Mrs. Lee. I feel a bit uncomfortable watching the eulogy last night by MM Lee. It felt like a national rally but mixed with the personal pain that nobody should be expressing on national broadcast.

I walked past a funeral today. The yellow tarp casted everyone with a golden glow. The place smelt like someone died. That death didn't make it to the news; all they had was yellow tentage, peanuts and a priest ringing a bell.

A blur of footsteps, clacking heels and rushing of briefcases, and I arrive at my destination.

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