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.