Friday, July 22, 2005
Terrorism: A Pain in the Arse
Green Park tube station is closed, so I go home via Victoria. I wait about ten minutes for a bus there - customary, I understand - and fuck around for a while trying to get a ticket. Boarders are allowed on the train early; I take my place near the front, the Odyssey under a folded arm. I settle down to it. I cross my legs in a vaguely effeminate way, curl my spine and bing! I'm back in Ithaca. Some chick gets on. She's rapping some shit. I rotate the chin.
"There is a bag here. On the seat. There!"
I pretend I don't understand what she's saying: course I do. She repeats: it's tiresome. Sighing I crane an irked neck and spot a knapsack nestled in the furrow of a thousand bygone buttocks. It was the time for action. An unattended bag on the tube? After today's nonsense? I did what anyone would have: I turned back to my pages, shooting surreptitious glances over the shoulder. What the hell, this is a place for sharing - I waited a couple of moments then stood and made my way down the carriage. I'd still take the bomb, but no sense in volunteering certain immolation. And there were some cats knocking around. I guess they hooked it with a broom handle and did their thing. Haven't heard anything else about it.
Must we deal with these bag-spotting do-gooders? I'll take my chances; avoid a scene.
|
Green Park tube station is closed, so I go home via Victoria. I wait about ten minutes for a bus there - customary, I understand - and fuck around for a while trying to get a ticket. Boarders are allowed on the train early; I take my place near the front, the Odyssey under a folded arm. I settle down to it. I cross my legs in a vaguely effeminate way, curl my spine and bing! I'm back in Ithaca. Some chick gets on. She's rapping some shit. I rotate the chin.
"There is a bag here. On the seat. There!"
I pretend I don't understand what she's saying: course I do. She repeats: it's tiresome. Sighing I crane an irked neck and spot a knapsack nestled in the furrow of a thousand bygone buttocks. It was the time for action. An unattended bag on the tube? After today's nonsense? I did what anyone would have: I turned back to my pages, shooting surreptitious glances over the shoulder. What the hell, this is a place for sharing - I waited a couple of moments then stood and made my way down the carriage. I'd still take the bomb, but no sense in volunteering certain immolation. And there were some cats knocking around. I guess they hooked it with a broom handle and did their thing. Haven't heard anything else about it.
Must we deal with these bag-spotting do-gooders? I'll take my chances; avoid a scene.
|
