Thoughts from the Tube

A short piece written on the Northern Line

I wipe the sleep from my eyes as I casually stroll down the platform. Having marched to the station and jogged down the escalator I miss my train by about ten seconds. This is frustrating but can’t be helped, part of daily life on the Tube.

I walk all the way to the end and wait for the front of the train. This is the sweet spot, where people density is lowest. I base this on looking at trains going by at speed and the fact that humans, in general, can’t be bothered to walk this far.

We are as cattle. No one speaks. People tut and groan but rarely does communication exceed bovine levels. Temperatures can rise to above those legally required to transport cattle. We are reminded to carry water as hot air blows through the carriage.

I have selected my distraction. Tube travel is purely about survival. Survival of the occupied. Seasoned tube travellers know this well. Those without distraction end up counting the stations remaining like a prisoner notching days on the wall. The expert tubers nonchalantly read a book with one hand while holding on with the other. I am still an amateur, I stick to my phone which doesn’t require page turning. Thankfully I have never lost my balance and fallen onto someone’s lap. Only calves do this. They trust the train and driver. The older cows know to trust no one, least of all the unpredictable track.

On the way home I have first dibs on a seat and so read a book. This is relaxing. I then fall asleep. Unashamedly. In front of strangers with no where to look except my face, feet, and insurance adverts. Somehow I don’t dribble.

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