It鈥檚 8pm and I鈥檓 sitting in the main section of the carriage. A weathered, middle-aged man in a tracksuit and peak hat is swaying around by the doors, muttering. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he ambles over.
鈥淗ow鈥檚 it going?鈥 He slurs.
鈥淵eah good mate.鈥
The train soon shudders to a stop, the doors open and he springs out like some manic racehorse into the night.