Euston Station

It’s Friday, 6:04pm, and you’re slightly out of breath from walking up the escalator at Euston Station. You step out of the tunnel, and the giant room feels small because the crowds are so dense. Nevertheless, you begin to make your way through the damp and musky forest of late summer commuters, careful not to interfere with anyone else’s adventures. Through that haze of humanity, you arrive at the departure board to arrange your passage home. You take your phone out of your pocket, cautious of the local pickpockets, and check the time against the departures. Two minutes. Your eyes dart to the platform number, and worry about it being quite high, before your eyes dart to the wall to find a sign that points to the platform. Naturally, the other end of the station. You re-embark, this time down a less busy corridor but where people move fast to your perpendicular, like you’re playing the game Frogger but instead of water, you’re jumping over wealthy businessmen. The deadline looms closer so you begin to jog, feeling only slightly guilty when you see the signs asking you not to run. In your haste, someone doesn’t notice you and bumps into you. You conclude this to be your fault and you won’t stop thinking about it for the rest of your journey. The platform comes into view, and for a brief moment you see the open train doors, before the beeping begins and they close. You keep walking despite the train in front of you already leaving the station.

When you finally concede, and begin your slow, defeated walk back to the departure board, a thought crosses your mind, and a scent crosses your nose. You know you’ve been eating pretty well this week, and you’re fully indulged in that ‘Friday Feeling’, you start to wonder if that familiar smell is just a marketing trick, or maybe just a byproduct of the way Burger King makes their food. With your mind already decided, you find yourself at the tills ordering some chips, because they’re not too messy and they don’t smell very much so no one on the train will mind. You pay for the chips with your phone, and while you’re only briefly worried if you have enough money to pay for them, you’re more concerned with the cashier judging you for the apps you have installed, despite all of them actually being pretty mainstream. The transaction clears and you stroll back to the departure board with one hand on your chips and the other putting them into your mouth. Despite the chaos ensuing around you with thousands of people anxious about their own journeys, for a moment, you don’t need to be anxious about yours.

Enjoying the peace you’ve found yourself, you check the departure board for your next train. Eight minutes this time, and you embrace the fact that you won’t even have to wait very long. A different platform this time, you stroll over, still cautious about your fellow passengers, and despite no given evidence, you feel more confident about your ability to avoid collisions. You make your way over to the platform, and the train is already there, its doors open, you can already taste home. You throw the now empty chips packet into the bin next to the mouth of the platform, your confidence reassured once more when it lands gently on the rest of London’s refuse. As you hop on the train, the gentle echoing of the announcer saying “Mind The Gap” passes through your consciousness. You’re one of the first passengers to board, so the train is quite empty and you take a seat. You find it a strangely comfortable chair, but the lights on the ceiling are slightly too bright, resulting in a very middling experience. As the minutes pass, your mind wonders about the people you’re going home to, and what you’re going to eat tonight, and if they wanna watch that new Netflix show that should have dropped by now, and whether it’ll rain and spoil the barbeque you have scheduled for the weekend, and whether that person you briefly talked to six years ago was into you, and if dogs have accents, and how you’re already at your stop.