She was sitting on the train when she heard it, the 6.30 bonecrusher, sardines with slippy hands and leaking earphones right in her face, that tune. Now she couldn’t get rid of it, like she’d stepped in dogshit before standing in an elevator. She wanted to scream, what’s its name? Panic.

7 thoughts on “Panic

  1. OK, I am a Londoner, and I travelled for a few years in the rush hour in the underground, from Liverpool Street to Bethnal Green – just one station but the longest tunnel in the central line as I can remember. I was always fully clothed, but that did not stop the irritation of being packed in a sardine tin and believe me it was not slippery, that would have been positive. There was a lot of contact – too much sometimes. I survived, but it was never fun. Perhaps I would have felt better without the clothes, on the other hand ………………

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