An elderly gentleman walks into the station, looks vaguely at the ticket machines, then heads for the barrier.
"Can I see your ticket, Sir?"
The old man idly waves a hand. "You don't need to see my ticket."
"I don't need to see your ticket."
"I can continue my journey."
"You can continue your journey."
He strolls through the gate and heads for the Jubilee line. The assistant looks at his retreating back, starts to say something, then shakes his head to clear it and shuts the gate.
As a young woman gets off the train, a young man leaps from the next carriage and catches up with her.
"Hey!"
"Oh! Hello again.. you don't usually come this way, do you?"
"Uh, no. Sorry. I changed at Stockwell because.. uh.."
"Because what? I'm late already, y'know."
"Oh, what the hell. Because, well, er, sorry, but, well, look, ah, I think I.. er.. I think I love you?"
"You... what?"
"Ohwhatthehell. I'm stupidly nuts about you, I can't think of anything except
you, it's driving me crazy, it's been driving me crazy for ages, and I
finally just had to tell you, you know, like, as it were. Er, sorry."
"And.. you followed me all the way from Balham just to tell me this?"
"Um, yeah. S'pose I did. Sorry about that."
"God. Eh.. I don't know what to say."
"Look, I'm sorry, this is stupid. I didn't talk to you earlier because,
well, I didn't know how you'd react, but now I've said it, I'll be off
and leave you in peace. Um. Sorry again. Cheerio."
"Hey! Where do you think you're going? Come back here right
now, you daft bastard."
"Um. Mmmph."
The apple of London Transport's eyne,
The Waterloo and City Line,
Shuttles from here to Bank.
A very long name for
Such a small train, so
most of the time
it's just known
as the
Drain.
Rush-hour crowds are streaming through the station at half past eight in the morning, flooding down from the main line platforms into the Underground on the way to work. They push and shove and hurry and tut, glaring at anyone who dares to move more slowly than themselves, a huge mass of tutting, stressed humanity.
One man walks along slowly with his head down. The crowd flows around and past him, tutting and rolling its eyes in impatience at his dawdling. Let them tut, he thinks. Why are they all in such a hurry? It's only bloody work - by the way these guys push and shove and rush you'd think they were on their way to do something they actually want to be doing.