1ben’s blog

Book Illustration

Below is an extract from my story:

And this is the frustrating aspect to the Tube. Like with the tense couple on the train, I am always conscious of the perils of meeting eyes, so I look pretty much everywhere else: the floor, the knees of the people opposite, their shoes, my knees, my folded hands, the tube stops, the black spaces through the windows.

At the other end of the carriage, a fat old man in a flee-bitten green jumper, pulled tight over his heavy mid-drift, is leaning over the back of his seat and rambling incoherent words to no one directly. Reserved faces, including mine and dad’s, try to ignore and keep our eyes to the floor. The standing youth is the only one oblivious.

Approaching Mornington Crescent, and the old man gets off, to the desperate relief of all on board. But he is un-phased and continues with his determined inner-outer dialogue. As we begin to move, he almost carries himself, with his hunchback limp, through the swift steps of those keenly trying to swipe past him.

He pauses to talk to those in front, behind and all around, gesturing frantically with his fat arms and fingers as he speaks to no one and everyone, as if giving directions to some other Underground, some other maze of directions to which only he knows the way.