London

A man dressed in black stood next to me last night waiting for the Berkhamsted line to come, two hours late because they keep misplacing drivers and not finding new ones.

We didn’t talk because I was feeling tired and mysterious. But when I saw him I immediately knew that if we were both on a reality tv show we’d form an alliance and vote the annoying people off the island.

I was in the last warm clothes I owned and at the end of my road when it came to getting lost in foreign cities where no one knew my name or cared what I looked like.

He was carrying his bike home from a design consultation job he liked because he’d worked hard and well his whole life. His arms stretched in old tattoos, telling all his stories.

All this you can tell from a stranger if you’re listening hard enough.

The train finally came and everyone surged the same annoying way they do when the plane’s just landed and no one’s meant to be standing yet. The man in black stood back from the crowd so I could go in first,

looked at me and said, You need to get home faster than me - I can see it in your eyes. I asked him how he knew - You can just tell these things, sometimes. Without even needing to ask.

And then the train started moving
and he disappeared into the carriage and
I’ll never see him again.