after picking up my belongings from beside the train, i attempt at a gallant and calm shuffle onwards, yet the weight of the bags impede my swift gentlemen like actions. i look like a pre-pubescent fuck-stick. now, to store my bags: the overhead compartment, for fucks sake. here we go, all those squats and dead-lifts that i worked on 13 months ago should put me in good stead for this. kneel (not bend) one, two, three... up, almost, [the bag tips] not quite... re-adjust, maybe, yes. it’s up. all eyes on me? perhaps, perhaps not. embarrassment, heat, cholinergic urticaria kicks in.  calm yourself down, breathing exercises, fuck, in through the nose then mouth, nose then mouth, nose then mouth, come on, alright. time to find my seat:

[point towards the window seat] ‘sorry, i’m..’

‘oh’ [man shuffles out]

‘thanks’ [push out sincere corner-of-mouth smile]

[shuffle into seat; bag shoved underneath with force, as to minimise time to accommodate for my seat-mate].