Joe took one look at the bulging edifice that had just been installed diagonally opposite and sighed a sigh of resigned disappointment. He had held high hopes for that vacancy: maybe an ‘individual’ young thing with layer upon layer of unfathomably fastened clothing, purple hair extensions and matching DMs; perhaps a sculpted redhead in City weeds to perfectly complement her blonde neighbour; even an enigmatic middle-aged gent in snowboarder’s garb and an arcane publication, scanned knowingly through aviator-style bi-focals, who could be anything from an aeronautics prof at Imperial to a gentleman thief to a master chocolatier.

But no, he got Pongo Johnson-Reynolds of Haberdashers and Bristol, on his way to the browbeating pit for another day of legally and respectably indulging his perverted fantasies, the fulfilment of which simply ratcheted the hunger and perversity higher and higher in an ever-expanding spiral of hatefulness. One day the bubble would burst, but there was simply no telling what level of monstrousness that appetite could sustain before finally giving.

He was reasonably philosophical about it: he knew he had no control over who boarded this particular train, but there was something more than that too. Already two other travellers, one not even aboard the train, the other halfway through a shameful retreat to an ignominious kind of safety, appeared to be sending venomous messages across the ether towards this newcomer. He had had quite an impact already. And more: closer to him, much closer, some kind of emotional volume had just been turned up. It had happened when Joe himself had boarded, and he knew exactly why. But that level had become the accepted norm by now. This was the next stage.

When he was a boy, his brother had worn a dental brace to correct his wonky bite. It had hurt like hell the first time it had been fitted, but over days and weeks the pain either diminished or he just learned to live with it. Certainly, the whimpering lessened and eventually disappeared. Then, after 4 weeks, the poor child was sent back to the dentist to have it tightened, and the agony returned. This repeated itself like some form of legalised torture every 4 weeks for over 2 years. Joe cried every time his brother had to go back to the chamber. He did his best to imagine the pain they were inflicting, although he was pretty sure he couldn’t get close. His teeth were perfectly aligned. But he had tried, at least. And that was what he felt now: somebody had just tightened the brace.