Boundaries are breached

I’ve always been happy to admit that I’m suited to office life. And the train out of Lewes first thing in the morning is not dissimilar. We’re all in it together, but actually we’d like nothing more than to be left alone. Sure, we can nod and greet and exchange a few undemanding words if we happen to be behind one another in the Runaway queue. But once the train pulls in, the barricades of our respective minds are up and standing firm.

Our silence is neither unfriendly nor disrespectful, then, but just an acknowledgement of a camaraderie that doesn’t need to be oiled by talk of any kind. And perhaps this is a reason why I’ve adapted to the early-morning commute as easily as I did to a desk-bound existence. It’s the same gentle sociability with quietness positively encouraged.

But occasionally I’ve found a clique forming around me on the station platform, through nothing more calculated than the fact that each of us has made a habit of sitting in a particular carriage on a particular train. And this is fine by me, but if the companionship this engenders has the audacity to turn to banter, then I’m off to relocate to another, more appealing carriage. Until that one, too, has ideas above its station and boundaries are breached.