Four Foot Eight

Highbury & Islington

On a damp Thursday morning, the station staff break for a cup of tea.

"Odd day today."
"Aye."
"Lot of odd people coming through."
"Aye."
"This one guy, I tell you. Looked like he was carrying something large on his shoulder. Couldn't tell what it was, but he barged his way through the crowds like he owned the place."
"Aye?"
"Yeah. And his odd mate asked me something about flying saucers then started giggling. Bunch of weirdos, if you ask me."
"Some new religious group opened up?"
"Could have been, could have been. One or two of them said something about trying to find their creator. And the weird one said something about having a lot of questions when they finally got hold of him."
"There you go, then. Aye."
"Strange thing, though. They all came back after a while. Went back into town looking disappointed. The weird one said something about how inconsiderate it was, and how he'd never be able to ask those questions now."
"Now you mention it, I saw that lot on the platform. One said something about that being that now as far as those diodes were concerned, and another one just seemed to be speechlessly fuming with indignant rage."
"That settles it, then. Weirdos. Wonder where they came from?"
"Not around here, that's for sure. More tea?"
"Aye."

For Douglas Adams, 1952-2001, with thanks for all the fish.