The train’s delayed. I stand within the carraige with my fellow passengers, packed like sardines. Overhead the intercom speaks out.
“Attention all passengers on the Cragieburn Line, we are waiting for a man who has been spotted on the tracks to be taken away, once that happens we’ll be on our way.”
Everywhere people moan and groan. Why has this man taken their time away from home? Extending their torture of standing shoulder to shoulder, smelling the odour of a days work.
I begin to think that this man may have something wrong with him. That he may be depressed, and is either hoping to meet contact with the high speed moving transport, or hoping that someone will answer his cry for help.
But I don’t care, I want to go home too, and he’s wasting my time.