| Tuesday, December 14, 2004 |
 | Today, just like yesterday, the trains were unhappy, and unhappy in the same way. The first train is too packed to consider. The second train, overtaking the train that is supposed to precede it, looks like Salo. All but for one carriage. We take side bets on whether the large man blocking the way further into the carriage will move. Eventually he wanders halfway down, then stops in place for no immediately discernible reason. Smaller people squeeze awkwardly past him. Everybody will be late. Nobody will be in a good mood. the driver will apologise for the shortness of the train. The train is, indeed, short.
Still, it's not all gloom. Yesterday morning, standing outside the terminal stop, one of the passengers, blessed with one of those London accents employed primarily in the polishing of diamonds and atomisation of tungsten, was explaining at some length first to Jim that he should stay at home if he was ill, and then to Vicky that Jim was ill, but that there was no need to worry, there would be no delivery that day, and that she, the speaker, woudl be in around 8:45. Notwithstanding the fact that it was being delivered at a volume more generally associated with requesting a velociraptor not to take the other arm as well, it was a very solicitous, friendly exchange. At the end of which our heroine fair bellowed, "Bye!"
"Bye, Vicky," the rest of the carriage chorused, almost as one. Just for a change, the whole carriage had made its connection.
0 Comments:
| |
