Chapter Seventeen: Do The Locamotion Part II

Dear Reader, 
Today I'm not writing to you as usual, today I am writing to a stranger...which come to think of it, you are too. Well now that we all know our place...

Dear man standing next to me on the train,
(Calm enough start you think, sure there's nothing to rant about here. 
Well the bloody well is)
Let me rephrase. 
Dear old white man with large stomach standing somewhere between too close and BACK THE FUCK OFF distance from my face. At what stage in train etiquette proceedings did you feel this would be even marginally a good idea?
It's buggeringly bad enough that I have to sit on a crowded train, on which there is fuck all air movement but now I have to deal with you leaning over me for eleventy billion hours as we make the rickety, cramped journey home. 
At what stage in life did you forget about people's bubbles? Oh wonderful, now you're coughing, you've fucking trampled on my bubble and now you're coughing on it. Thanks a lot. Bloody hurrah. 
Now I'm not mother flippin' train standing expert but I liked to think I know a few things about how to not be all up in someone's personal space whilst standing. It's not bloody university challenge sir, it's achievable to all that bother to try.

Now unequivocally and indefinitely fuck off, and when you get there fuck off again, and keep fucking off until you get back here again, and then fuck off once more... 


...please. 

S.P.

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