The London Underground

I ride an awful long way on the Underground. I board the train at Stanmore, at the end of the Jubilee line. Transfer to the Bakerloo at Baker street, where I ride until Charing Cross. It's about an hour's trip. During that hour, it's almost impossible to read. Often I try and imagine what would happen if somehow, the individual carriage became stranded and eventually drifted into some sort of isolated Water World manic dystopia. I look at the businessmen around me and imagine them in that post-apocalyptic leather wear from the movies. I wonder who would mate with whom to enable procreation in our abandoned Jubilee line fringe society. Tonight I thought that the Pakisatani lady accountant would make with the Jonas brothers lookalike in the corner. The big burly Asian man with caterpillar eyebrows would probably rise to the ranks of village chief. Me? I would probably elect to serve as the historian and documentarian for our vanguard society.

The Underground used to be more fun. There used to be a Cadbury's chocolate vending machine on every platform. Hour-long rides were sugar-fueled mad fantasy camps. But all the candy machines have been removed since my last visit. What are we to do now? Imagine the lucid daydreams London Transit is depriving us of? While imagining the post-apocalyptic society in my train carriage, I can't help but think that I would have much more interesting daydreams should they be aided by Dairy Milk bars and chocolate Flakes.