In training...

I am a commuter. I commute; therefore I am. I belong to a family of commuters. I perambulate along the corridors, stairs and escalators of Brixton, Stockwell, London Bridge and Bermondsey. I am learning the hop skip and jump through the threat of closing doors. I am closer to my fellow commuter than I ever cared to be; I can see their pores, smell their deodorant, inspect the lint on their coats. I am mastering the art of the sliding eyes when caught looking. I can study the tube map on the wall for minutes on end and read the newspaper over the shoulder of my neighbour. I am subtle in my facial expression to indicate that it wasn’t me who opened my lunchbox. I can tighten my lips along with the best of them when the PA announces minor delays on the Northern Line. I can dodge the slow ones in the walkways, or walk close to their heels, depending on my mood. The world is my Oyster (card).