Barry was already feeling like he wanted to get well away from Fig
"how many of you could look at your brain in the mirror for 5 years"
"bitches like geezers wishing they had cocks, hur, hur"
"mind me hair - yeah I've just had me curlers in too"
"Watch him Barry, probably some terrorist with a gasbomb up his arse"
The silence is suddenly a very different kind of uncomfortable - not something anyone had preempted or prepared for this morning - just hold out for the next stop. These two clowns, just out of Pentonville, right stop, right tattoos, right mania, right attitude, right bags. I can feel small bumps on my neck. Nothing to read but the two lines of crappy holiday insurance marketing, over and over, and over....
It's 9.20 a.m, I'm 100 ft under ground trapped in a carriage with suits and nutters I need a cigarette and I wish I was drinking a whisky instead of sweating it.
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