Elbowing hats clean off the aisle seats and taking half the train by long stride, a fellow taller than he was shorter crumpled into his spot and rued the day he signed away his mornings to the rush of Work. Work that paid not nearly enough at a steady rate.
The grinding of his jaw wove into a harmony of groans and moans coming from out and under the full span of waged citizens on the same doomed commute. Yet the railways had little sympathy for the way these cogs of City commerce felt about their destination. Minutes after the man found his feet, the great engine huffed, puffed and then sped out onto the iron lattice that reached into all corners of the country. Going and going to kiss the first rays of sun on the horizon.
In the cabin, a far less aspirational atmosphere hung low. Hovering about the passenger's shoulders it was breathed in and exhaled by all. "What gloom and always so!" the tall man thought to himself. Wrapping his knuckles on the brass buckle holding his waist in a stretch, he felt the grooves of a century-old insignia de-marking his place of work. Ah, the history of Work.
In the beginning was the wave of gin distillers feeding stupor into a Gentry until it collapsed under its own pretence in the face of Commerce. Now the great engine of Work chunted into all corners of the Country and public tastes had moved onto beer mild enough that intoxication by night would not prevent full-throttle of labour in the following morning. Escape had been factored into the Routine and Routine had come to eventually swallow every man. This being so, the long man's place of work, a mid-sized brewery, had come into an existence as a thriving sedative for the hopes and dreams in all morning commuters.
Feelings now fell few and far between. Turning it over in his own mind, he had resolved that Care was something to be afforded only to immediate family and perhaps an innermost circle of friends. Just as he became convinced at this genius of being able to count Care on as many fingers as he had hands, the engine screeched to a halt. Commuter was thrown into commuter and in the frenzy of collision his eyes fell upon the frightened gaze in the seat opposite him. His hands fell away and Care spilled over.
#writing #work #routine #commute #fictional @ellowrites