I wait on the platform for a seat that will carry me into town. There is a book in my bag, safe, I touched it before I left the house. I never get my book out on the platform. A ritual. I tantalise myself with the knowledge of its existence as the train squeals down the curving track. Passengers surge, each hoping for the jackpot door. I drop into a seat and only then do I open my briefcase. For the next thirty-four minutes I am not on a train.
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