I was standing on the platform, waiting for the 8:38 service to Manhattan. It was a cold, gray day, and the sun beat down remorselessly. Further along the platform a fat man had stumbled and sprained his ankle. A vet had been called, and the man was being put down. The situation made me feel uncomfortable. The train pulled into the station, the wheels screeching in mock ecstasy. I boarded the train, cursing as I realized my breakfast (cereal and milk) was leaking out of my briefcase. I sat next to an elderly gentleman. I wasn't sure if he was dead or not, so I jabbed him in the arm with a letter opener. He awoke with a jolt. 'Sorry.' I chuckled. 'I thought you might be dead.' 'Where are you going?' I asked him. 'Industrial Turkshead.' He replied, staring out of the window into the blank darkness of the tunnel. 'What an interesting name for a place!' I cried, delighted by my discovery. 'It's French. It means "City of a thousand hidden delights and terrors". 'Well, that's certainly true! What a terrific name for the place.' I was making headway already. 'You may call me Johann.' The elderly man said. 'Yes, it's German.' He smiled to himself, as though laughing at some secret joke, winking conspiratorially at me. I thrust out my hand. 'Pleased to meet you Johann.' My name is mud.' To be continued...?
2006-11-17
02:44:49
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5 answers
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asked by
rabbit0102030
3
in
Social Science
➔ Psychology