| Sunday, August 01, 2004 |
 | Yeesh. On my way to Brighton, delayed by security alert at Euston and human frailty, I watched a man push himself through the well-fed body of a tube train like a dog's nose. Odd but explicable - maybe he really needed to find a seat. Until, far from my reach, he opened the door to the next carriage and swayed through. The sound of mass transit changing shape on a turn and making jam did not, thank God, follow. Fascinated, I did, as he took the stairs to the air, and there we parted. I imagine he just wanted to get to the surface as soon as.
It reminded me of perhaps my third week in London proper, not hiding out in East Finchley looking for a home, on the way back to Islington from Stockwell, words still without location, when a fellow traveller announced his intention to the class, levered open the connecting door and pissed. I suppose that if you have to piss on a tube train it is your least worst option, but, new in the ways of the world, all I could think was, unaware of the wipe-clean rubber and steel membranes wrapped around the carriage ends for just such an occasion, was live rail, dude.
Not that I said anything. This is London, after all. And wherever he had pissed, somebody was going to have to clean it up.
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