The Girl on the Train

Girl on the Train

Is a best selling thriller.  But sometimes its more straightforward.

After coffee with an old friend in South Kensington I get on the  Wimbledon train at Earls Court. As always I sit opposite someone who is easy on the eye. She is engrossed in her earphones and is nodding away. I sit down , she smiles. She is  quite pretty in a  slightly underfed way.  She carrries on smiling and nodding to the tune. I ask, what are you listening to?

“Trash, I dont care, I love it”. “Don’t know it, I like Roy Orbison” I say rather cluelessly. She crosses the aisle and sits next to me. Is this a result? I realise   closer up, that drugs may  play a part in her life.

She takes  out one of her earphones and asks  if I would like to listen. I am now out of my depth and I have forgotten how to swim. I’m drowning. Thank  Christ I took my heart pills that morning otherwise it could have been curtains on the District Line. I hate people who die on the tube,  it creates so much inconvenience for so many.

I say I am not really interested. She gives  a what a wanker look and then asks whats the time. I tell her. She crys,  F*** Me and jumps  up and leaves the train. Something I said or didn’t, drugs kicking in, what?, as my daughter would say, pretty random.This whole incident has taken scarcely a couple of minutes.

I kid you not, another striking lady this time  well fed with big hair gets on, also plugged in. She doesn’t nod or smile and I keep my trap shut.

I spot a neighbour who tells me of the previous night’s Fulham game. 2-3 against the league leaders Burnley.

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