March 19

Two orange coated train station men argue on Epsom station platform. One is young, with curly hair and a way of talking that screws up the words and blurts them out. He is on platform two, standing with his hands in his pocket. The other is much bigger, older and fatter and he speaks with an angry slur. He is on platform three and his hands are in the air, conducting ever word.

    ‘Two minutes early. I looked at the display.’

    ‘Always been that time,’ replies the younger train station man, hands still in pocket.

    ‘No. Never. You weren’t looking.’

    ‘I was, Dave. Always that time.’

    ‘It isn’t. Pay attention, Mick. I’m trying to tell you.’

    The voices are rising. It’s early in the morning, a short time before 7am and the sun is filling the sky with yawning light, the morning pulling on light blue clothes.

   ‘What? Best work you do is nothing at all. Fact.’

   ‘What?’ Dave shouts.

   Customers on the platform are watching now. What was a conversation between employees has suddenly turned into a spectacle, a drama, an argument; an amusing way to start the day.

    ‘You talking to me?’

    ‘You heard, Dave.’

     Where did the aggression come from? What other arguments have these two men have or nearly had a hundred times during tense tea-breaks or in frustrating staff meetings?

    ‘You want to come here and tell me?’

    Every single person is watching and waiting for the reply. The two men are boys now, squaring up in the playground. Mick backs down. He takes his hands out of his pocket once to wave away the suggestion.

    ‘Pah!’ and he turns and walks down the platform.

     Dave gives a louder, ‘pah!’ waving his hands directly at Mick to dismiss him from existence. He disappears into the staff room on the platform.