And he was convinced, on seeing her leave her seat and signal to him to meet at the entrance to the train, that it was for one final “I love you” before the weekly departure.

No dice.

A comment on the state of the trains, wrapped in a vehermence bordering on the obsessive, after which the door shut leaving him alone on the platform. Picking up the bag containing their stash from the day, he walked the length of the platform to the station exit.

“Spare some change?”

Why not. Have it all. Have the fucking lot. Its only money, you probably need it more than I do, even if it is only to shoot up. Save you breaking into another house. But instead, like normal, he mumbled an apology about having no cash and kept his head focussed down as he tried to project the stress of the weekend onto the homeless.

“Please. Anything.”

This didn’t normally happen. The man was standing in front of him, blocking the exit. The station doors were open beneath the clock. 10.00 pm. It was still light. It was only this year that he had realised the extent to which he loved the summer. He shook his head, and tried to make his way out, and up to the nearest pub.

“For some tea.”

Right. Tea. Like he’d ever seen a tramp drinking tea. But the guy wasn’t going to move. Stood there like the living dead, it seemed as though the only way to get out of the station would be to offer some money. Something small. He fumbled in his pocket, trying to find twenty pence amongst the pound coins. Where were the staff when you needed them?