Passengers

Tall man sweeps into the carriage and plumps into a seat, unzips his jacket and shrugs it off, re-adjusts himself and crosses his legs, reads his crinkly copy of London Lite. Opposite a man in checkered vans chats to a woman with a haircut like Daryl Hannah in Blade Runner - sharp straight fringe that brushes her eyes. He's talking about separating from his girlfriend who is the mother of his child - he feels its better than staying in a loveless relationship and potentially damaging the child. When he gets off at Kings Cross she starts reading The Catcher in the Rye. She's about half way through. I loved that book. I met an aspiring writer at a party once. He reminded me of Holden Caulfield, he threw himself into life with abandon willing to experience everything.

I am a passenger. And I ride and I ride.