As the hurtled its weary way through the darkness, I took a long, hard look at the reflection of a man, in the window, opposite. He was was nearing thirty, pale with a lanky sort of build and a thick mop of dark hair that looked a fortnight overdue for a good cut. He wore a Mark and Spencer’s suit which he didn’t fill out very well and on his lap was a battered, black briefcase. He wore spectacles, with round wire frames like the ones you used to get on the National Helath, forty years ago, only they were fashionable. The tatty briefcase lent him an air of bruised sophistication. What was inside? Business papers? An earth shattering thesis? Or perhaps more likely it was a sham and his case was empty but for a copy of New Scientist and a Tupperware carton containing his hastily prepared lunch. [download]
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