Their London

It was hot. Condensation gathered on the windows of the metro train as people piled in and then pushed out again. I stared at everything. Some people stood so close to the doors that they opened millimetres from their face, then strode out, filled with hidden purpose. Everyone else did the same thing; they held the poles or sat down, swaying with the train. Automatic. They would take out books and huge newspapers in the smallest spaces. Some talked, but not many, this was “morning rush-hour, not a night out”. They were all a part of this big system, some looked down at me and I knew. I wasn’t part of the train.