|Four stops on the Piccadilly Line
Mad Scientess Jane Expat
Four stops on the Piccadilly Line
A man in a suit boards the train,
a determined look on his face.
He sits, puts his briefcase on his knees,
removes his tie.
He folds the tie carefully.
It's 10:42 AM.
He should be at work, but in an exhilarating impulse
he left the office 20 minutes before a meeting.
Just walked out.
He is going to Heathrow.
He is going to buy a plane ticket to India.
He turns his phone off.
He has no signal underground, so this is merely a gesture.
It feels significant, though.
No one can find him. No one knows where he is.
A wave of loneliness engulfs him.
Horrified, he dives off at the next stop.
His forgotten tie flies off his lap,
flutters in the air defiantly,
crumples to the floor.