Four Foot Eight

Borough

A neatly-dressed man carrying an umbrella walks onto the platform. Deep in thought, he waits for a northbound train.

What he isn't carrying is a briefcase, which is why he's deep in thought. He is so senior at work that his briefcase is usually almost empty anyway apart from a copy of the Financial Times - he doesn't have to read it himself, there are people at work who prepare a daily digest of what's important for him to know. Still, you can't go to work without a briefcase, he thinks. He has staff to handle his diary, take minutes and produce summaries. They even decide where he's going to lunch today and who with.

He's scared that one day someone will work out that amid all the hubbub of his executive office and its staff, he doesn't actually have to do anything himself. He's too important. And then where will he be? The problem is that once you've got far enough up the ladder you begin to forget how you got there. He knows that if he lost his job he'd be finished. And he's having to try very hard right now to remember the contents of the shopping list in his forgotten briefcase. Margarine, semi-skimmed milk, green olives, maybe?

Oh well. He'll get someone to sort it out when he gets to work.