Lightweights

Work has had a grip on me lately, my writing has suffered immensely. I get terribly frustrated. Call me sad but all I need is a pen, some paper and a few glasses of whatever wine is present in the fridge. When I do go out it's usually out of courtesy. I used to be wild, I wouldn't be trapped for even one day. I needed out otherwise I'd suffocate. It seems I have gotten old overnight. I want to be alone with my paint and singer sewing machine. If I don't get my fix I'll get withdrawal symptoms. It is an addiction. It's difficult to be constantly inspired but it's impossible to live without.

I thought about the drunk boy on the train. He was attractive in the most boring way and couldn't handle his beer. He was asking far too many questions and was trying to impress me by informing me his little travel buddy was about to move into a new pad that was previously occupied by a famous footballer. Like I gave two shits about their money. He could have guessed that but he told me anyway, just to make a point. His ginger friend was even more of a lightweight. He was perched on the arm of the seat and a little on the lap of his footballer obsessed, cliché friend. He asked me if I had a boyfriend and I looked dead at him as if to say "Mind your business little man." I was in no mood for inexperienced come on's. He told me he didn't have a girlfriend for reasons I didn't want to hear. Then two more showed up and they surrounded me. Trapped in the corner, I worried I would soon have to respond. They had interrupted my writing. I could see I wasn't going to enjoy this, in fact it was agony.

Boy number one repeated himself over and over.

"Do you like drum and bass?"

"Not particularly"

"Oh...............So do you like drum and bass?"

"NO"

The ginger boy was getting louder and cocky and was making a tit of himself. He cracked open another can and almost spilt the whole thing all over the table, my bag and journal. The women sitting opposite snatched the can and led him away with it like a donkey with a carrot. She said loud for everyone's ears,

"I don't want beer all over me, THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN KIDS DRINK"

He answered back without actually saying anything understandable. Next thing you know, her husband got up from the seat behind her and asked the lad if he wanted a smack. The scrawny little thing said Yes.

'Oh god' I thought. This train was in peek hours and was full to capacity. There were children a few rows away. I think all the commotion had woken a baby because from there on out I heard crying. This is why I usually get the last train available.

The ginger boy eventually backed down and shuffled back the next carriage. I looked out of the window for a few minutes hoping they would ignore me. Then I looked back and noticed boy number one was miming something with his hands. He was pretending to hold a small book and was writing with an imaginary pen.

"I looked outside and it was good" he giggled.

The prick was mocking me! What is the world coming to when a girl writing on a train is an odd and uncool thing to witness? I wouldn't expect them to understand. They were ten a penny, but it stuck with me all day.