2 minutes until the chain of carriages is supposed to rush into the tunnel with the sound of a hundred thunders. 2 minutes until I close today's newspaper and leave it folded on the seat as I get on because nothing in there was probably worth reading anyway.
2 minutes until I'm sat on a carriage lit by pale yellow light looking at all the faces around me that I'll never see again. The faces belonging to people with intricate lives and unique sets of teeth unmasked from their lips when they smile.
And I'm looking at the faces of the people of the platform that are here, now.
The scuffed grey trainers that used to be white swiftly stepping down the staircase.
The solid built men with dollhouse briefcases and navy suits stretched over their form. A child's laugh echoes through the tunnel above the general sound of unintelligible voices amalgamating into one complex of conversations.
Slim legs clad in worn denim appearing into view.
You never get to see any of the people here again.