A short story…

I saw his smug face on the train, he always makes me mad.Today i spilled my coffee in the pandemonium to get on, he’s still smirking.I spilled coffee all over my favourite jumper, everyone is smirking. Sometimes i feel like punching him. I’ve seen him 4 times this week each time he’s more smug. I squeeze past a banker reading the metro like no one else exists and move in to the space near the window. I like the cold breeze on the back on my neck, the rest of the carriage is like a sauna. I hate it here.    

 You see the films like Notting hill and think oh London looks great. I hate it here. Fuck i hate that film. This guy reminds me of Hugh Grant…He’s still Smirking… Maybe if i just casually walk over and punch him I’ll feel better. Covent Garden, his stop. Tomorrow I’ll do it, or maybe Saturday. The tourists might get in the way mind. Doors have closed now anyway he’s gone, still looking like a smug bastard most likely. I’ll just lower my head and read the paper, put Belle and Sebastian on. Only another hour to go…I fucking hate it here.