There are surprisingly few people in the train carriage, though it is rush hour.
They gaze vacantly out the window with the same contentedness of cows.
Those people are closer than they seem.
Their breath mingles with yours, moist and cloyingly sweet.
They brush shoulders with you, gentle at first and fast becoming violent.
There is no voice over the tannoy, calling the train to a stop.
No comments:
Post a Comment