I got off at Epping because the train was so crowded. I see a haze of grey. It smells like a rubbish barge, rotting fish and porridge. I have a cup of coffee in my hand. I’ve managed to find a seat on the empty platform, which is brilliant. It is amazing, I can buy an espresso anywhere and they all taste shithouse. Like dishwater made drinkable by lashing of sugar. That’s sophistication. I re-arrange my effects; stick my money and drugs in a coat pocket. My watch says 10:30 am. I feel rather smug about myself. I ponder the idea that I could make a television series about my new career as an outsourcing councillor. I think not. I guess like that guy that recently was arrested taking photos of girls’ undies by sticking a miniature camera on the tip of his shoes. How does someone wind up at that position in life when this sounds like a good idea?Like everybody else in this carriage my brain is a vacuum and my nose is streaming. The whistle sounds and the train pull out of the station. I sit back and enjoy the smells and unhappiness. Who farted?

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