10 Minute Train Tract

The early morning getup standing on a packed train buckle holding facing a sat mid aged business man who resembles a former prime minister but for the scar atop his head. Looks like a car crash slash and wonder if this is why he catches the train now? Somebody behind sneezes on my hand. Dawn born criminals sneer at the surrounding suits thinking if we were to rumble you would surely lose, the suits stare back and think without me you wouldn’t have whatever service the suit is travelling in to provide. And society doesn’t crumble, cause all they do is sneer and stare. The cattle train continues, digesting us in the process. More stoppers and sleepers dive in to doze aboard, crooked tin coloured ties flopping from funeral coloured button undone jackets. Some sit slate eyed drooling out the texta scrawl nail scratched bug splat glass at unfinished future developments, some swimming in their own reflected eyes. Black bagged regrets and hatred for not working nights, or for being wealthy enough to retire. Some thinking they might give the gym a miss today. Others considering digging the bike out of the garage, again. The driver’s dry voice spits alive over the line and dulls out information of a possible track closure due to unforseen circumstances. A rail suicide springs to mind as the cause, but nobody will know until the newsprint dries tomorrow, or the electrodes and radio signals fire mid afternoon. But his voice is not enough for most people to take the hip hop electro classical bomb blast beats from their ears, believing a volume increase in order. Click clack click click almost there avoid uncomfortable eye contact. My stop stops us all. Depart with no farewell into the grey morning grind.

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