This train is full of creeps, disgusting insects.
A gaggle of teens are cackling away at an irritating frequency, passing around a juice bottle no doubt topped up with whatever spirit they could sneak from their parents’ collection.
There is a man, so obese that his gut hangs down past his groin, his legs spread wide to accommodate it. He dabs at his brow again and I can smell, almost taste, the sweat.
Behind him a businesswoman is on her mobile. I bet she’s just come from a liquid lunch. As she speaks, one hand flings back and forth like a disobedient mannequin. The conversation is about sex with a married man, loud enough and graphic enough for the entire carriage to be unable to ignore.
A child begins to wail from its push chair and its mother responds by shouting at it to shut up already, resulting, obviously, in the converse.
The first thing I’m going to do when I get home is shower and lather myself till their stench is eradicated from my skin and my soul. Disgusting insects. I despise them all.
I’ll spend the rest of the evening sitting in the dark and listening to some Wagner. It’ll be the only way to feel untainted once more. Three more hours to go before that’s even a possibility though.
I clear my throat then call: “Tickets please!”
Title image courtesy markhillary