Walsh
Aug 31, 2018 · 9 min read
Walsh jumped on the train, his briefcase entering the carriage before he did and settled down opposite the woman in grey. For the past eight years, Walsh had been catching this very same 8:27 B line to work and for each day of these past eight years he had been late. “Do you have to pick up the Wall Street Journal? Why can’t you just download the app?”, his exasperated wife would ask as he set off on his daily dash. Walsh was a man of routine and once he had settled into one, he found it almost impossible to break it. He didn’t know how to explain to her that old habits die hard and moreover, the smell of ink and the ruffling sound of pages…

