I dove through the doors just before they closed and immediately felt myself sardined between two men: a stocky one whose eyes were comfortably tied to his phone and a tall one in a dark tracksuit whose head dangled to one side like a lamppost. Hurrying away from them, I shifted out onto a wide space of train-floor. The floor was once a mottled dark grey but the rubber had long since faded away and now the mechanical bones of the train could be seen through the peels and holes. What was left of the train shuddered like a man at gunpoint and the windows screamed in an agonised fashion that reminded me of a silver fork clanking and itching it’s way along a porcelain plate. The crowd only became more dense as I tried to work my way around it as though the people were multiplying and I found myself drowning in the rumbling of voices. All I could see for miles was the fabric of monotone suits, overlapping one another like an overcast sky. Light struck down from the roof in heavy white beams that bounced rings around the sea of bald headed men, occasionally sparking when an unfortunate mayfly found its way between the rods or sometimes threatening to crackle away all together. I turned back to where I had entered but the suits had flooded in, leaving me stranded in the crowd and staring at a hurtling void of a view from a window damp with oil and mould.