Secret lives of the impassive faces

I was looking around the tube today, uncharacteristically awake after having to get up early to show the roofer the leak in my room and then figuring on staying awake to try to shake off the last dregs of the night before. Seemed to me that there was the potential that the people in front of me were a) very dull, beaten down by years of cancelled trains, stalled promotions and failed relationships, or that b) they were fiends, living for the chance to act inappropriately, existing to put a spanner in the works.

Option b) appealed to me. Was the man opposite flicking through tunes on his ipod actually flicking through nudie pics? Was the lady with the ham sandwich and the light reek of kerosene planning her next arson attack. Was the old lady to my right planning to chain herself to Alan Sugar while screaming “you’re hired, you’re hired, you’re hired”? And what of me? was I just going in to work, to type a thousand words about community safety or was I secretly planning to spend the day with one eye on bolo and one hand idly sketching a picture of the man I wanted to be? I was not sure, but I was hoping for the latter.

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