London Tales I
Wednesday, I was on the tube (tr = subway) going to Hammersmith. That cute pink line that's mostly above ground. The car was mostly empty; a few business people going to meetings, a few generic Londoners going on their way. At the Portobello Road stop, a bloke got on: the kind of person you don't notice. Blokeish. Fortyish. Office-style: coat, computer bag, dark trousers. Overweight. Moustache, I think.
After a few minutes, he got up, went to the middle of the carriage, looked around, got out a shorthand pad from his bag (you know, the take-a-letter Miss Moneypenny kind), looked around, and said, "I have something I saw on an Alliance & Leicester advert for you today, everyone." As if we'd come to his lecuture, or he was a pundit, or he was OK. I half listened; half people-watched, but whatever he said was gibberish, nothing to do with adverts or financial services, or anything. People gave the impression of listening politely, while continuing to read the paper/pick their nose/stare into space.
And I looked at him again. In this new light, he looked a little different: coat didn't quite fit. Might be secondhand? Trousers pretty stained. Shoes had definitely seen better times. Computer bag clearly didn't have a computer in it. Am I prejudiced?
So when he'd finished, he took a bow, and stood around till the next stop. When he got off, I couldn't help wondering if he does that all day; ride the tube system, tell people stuff, think he's doing something. Guess I'll never know.
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