Euston Station (Alt)

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, but you can’t tell when the next one is due. None of the trains going in the right direction are stopping at your destination. As the sight of home drifts further away, you start to panic. You check the crowd to see if any of them might be stranded like yourself, but they all look confused, and certainly can’t all be travelling to the same place as you. You remember Kings Cross, a station just down the road from where you are now that might be able to get you home, but the last time you went there you realised “just down the road” is almost a kilometre, so this time, you decide against it. You swim your way over to the booth with the giant ‘i’ symbol hoping that someone there will help you. You talk to the person manning the booth, but hand you a pamphlet with train times, none of which appear to be accurate. You thank them, despite them being no real help. With no apparent way home you search for a seat, but with rush hour at hand, they all appear to be taken, so you concede to sitting on the floor. As you get your phone out and check for service disruptions, you’re interrupted by a message someone sent and a BBC Breaking News story that sounds mildly interesting.

As you’re swiping through Tinder, you find yourself suddenly hyper aware of your surroundings and the people judging your vapid life choices, regardless of the modern shift in the culture of sex. You check the time and see that you’ve been sitting down for longer than you previously believed, and find that your rear is uncomfortably cold, or maybe numb, from the concrete floor. As you contemplate standing, you hear the announcer’s soothing tones inform you there was a “trespassing incident”, and no trains are able to stop at your destination for another two hours. You spot only a single other passenger frustrated at this news, but strangely find their presence comforting. With a new goal in sight, you hunker down in your position, and learn to accept the next few hours of moderate-to-intense discomfort as unavoidable. In your head you picture yourself giving yourself a pep talk in the mirror at home, and then laugh at how silly you look. With no engaging input around, you turn to your environment to provide your entertainment. You start to wonder where people are from, how that’s made them who they are today, and where they want to go next. You consider that the next person to walk through that door over there might just be Prime Minister one day. As random questions drift towards you, you allow Google to swat them away. Outside, the sun begins to set, bathing the city in a vibrant amber glow that you know looks incredible, but you can only see through the smallest of windows. You would go and have a look yourself, but standing now would violate the safety of your personal space, so you settle for watching someone you once knew enjoy it from the top of Primrose Hill, on Snapchat.

Despite the fact that you haven’t moved any significant amount since you sat down, your body is entirely drained. When the platform for your ride home is announced, you take a full minute to gather the strength required to stand. You don’t have too much trouble, but one of your legs decides they need another few minutes, so you stumble. When you’re finally on your feet, you notice the crowd is much less busy, leaving you free to walk comfortably to your platform. As you walk, you check your pocket to rediscover the shreds of the packet of chips you idle-mindedly tore up during your long wait, and you’re pretty sure you just dropped a shred on the floor as you did so. When you arrive at the platform, no train is present to greet you, so you elect to sit on one of the cold metal chairs on the platform. As you look out into the trainyard, the remnants of the sunset are perverted by cold steel pillars and dirty brick walls, staining the sunbeams. As you’re taking your phone out of your pocket, the train turns the corner into the yard, so you stop and put your phone back. You audibly sigh as you once again gather the strength to stand. As you stumble onto the train, you fall into one of the seats, and your eyes close. A few minutes later the train departs, the dirty amber glow washes over your eyes as the train moves, hypnotising you to sleep.