All I can smell is oil, sweat and wearing electric engine fumes perforating in entanglement through the stiflingly warm and humid air.
It’s been a tough day at work, nothing new there. I can still hear the sound of my boss’s voice ringing in my ears in perpetuity. He has a deep droning voice, the type which is great for delivering speeches, but not the sort you want to hear booming in your ears all day.

The sound of steel upon steel, like a loose fan belt in the winter’s air is a welcome distraction. Yet it’s not a distraction I really desire, or so I thought. The screech of the rolling stock means we’re approaching our next stop. I hear the recorded voice over the tannoy announce ‘The next stop is Oxford Circus’ in a crackly sounding voice from the worn out, neglected speaker. The carriage is not much better to say the least. It brings my attention to the door.

The doors swish open, like curtains opening in the morning allowing the outside world to penetrate into your sealed off domain. Hoardes of faces bustle and push their way on to the carriage, it is rush hour and extremely busy.
Suddenly! I catch sight of a long mane of beautifully dark, well groomed hair as it brushes past my...