He waited for his train on the platform. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten this particular train ride, nor would it be the last. He was familiar with gravel underfoot. The two yellow lines dancing too and froe as they always did. There were lines everywhere. Escaping them wasn’t really a possibility. ‘Don’t cross the line’ his Boss would say. ‘Please wait in line’ the pharmacy sign would order. The Nazca Lines out in Peru was the last time he enjoyed seeing anything associated with that word. They were more large-scale pieces of art, not exactly line-like in the common sense of the term. Fed up, he kicked the ground underneath him. This would do nothing except scuff the bottom of his shoe, another visit to the local cobbler the only outcome of that repeated action. Often, he’d find himself refraining from things that would cost him money in the future. Not that he had much. That was the problem. His mum had always told him that he walked a narrow path, in other words a straight line. Sadly, that wasn’t the straight line to success. If it was, it was way off in the distance, so far he couldn’t see it just yet. Although his vision wasn’t one of perfection either, avoiding the opticians had saved him a few quid but probably cost him more in the long run.

If only he had been born into wealth, he thought. Silk pyjamas, silver wear and grandiose halls would await him as his eyes would creep open. Instead, he woke up to the dim light of the streetlamp, his curtain a weak excuse for fabric. They’d be better off being used as shower curtains, or even if he botched up some Prom dress out of it and sold it to some poor student trying to make one final impression on the boy she’d fancied all these years. She’d make an impression alright, but it would unlikely be the one she’d hoped for. At least that would avoid any evening debauchery. Prom nights had the tendency for taking people off track. One night they’d be a King heading for a prestigious University on a full scholarship, next they’d be a family man working a nine to five at the local construction site, feeding the kid he abruptly brought into his world. Sometimes he wished he’d had that. At least that way he’d have a family to go home to at the end of the night. Someone who’d always smile and wave their hands in the air when he was in the room, that sounded nice. He barely got a glance these days. The old ladies stopped being nice to him too, that was when he really hit a low. When the old start realising, you’re more miserable than them, that’s when you’re really in the shit.