I stepped onto the train. All was calm. The red leather seats evoked comfort. He sat in the centre of the empty carriage spreading himself out lethargically. Was this a normal posture? - I wondered. He was not dirty or untidily dressed but I sensed a discrepancy. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. His face was a little red and his smile a little self centred. He sat up straight and I believed he was in fact a respectable citizen who had now composed himself after a moment of relapse. He leaned over his backpack between his legs and carefully retrieved a tin of strong lager.Oranjeboom eight percent was an economic choice. I remembered the advert that elegantly animated the healthy workers stirring the brewing beer. They sang as they worked.
Just look here
Lend an ear
You'll appreciate this beer
It's not run of the mill I'd say
It's in touch.ask.my old Dutch
That it can't be praised too much
Get your lips around a pint today
Oranjeboom oranjeboom it's a lager not a tune
Oranjeboom the order of the day
Draught oranjeboom now brewed in the UK
Boom boom boom boom!
I realised he was not the conformist I had believed. He cracked the can and brought it slowly to his pouting lips. He sucked in his first draft and lowered the can. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was comfortable and warm in company with a drink. Now I remembered him. I had seen him walking along the towpath carrying two large plastic bags. I had given a nod of greeting but he had turned away with a desperately tortured expression. His homeless plight rang out. Now on the underground he dissimulated as a member of society. Maybe an alcoholic breaking regulations but not apparently homeless. The tell-tale bags were now secreted in the undergrowth. He drank again and breathed deeply. He was content. I had no reason to engage in conversation with him though we shared an enclosed space. Along the towpath he had not wished to talk. Maybe he never wished to talk. Had he spoken when he had bought his can of ale or did the convenience of the self checkout not require such etiquette? A shop assistant had approved his purchase. The train reached the next stop and the doors opened. Another passenger boarded. He wore a well tailored suit and carried a briefcase. He sat down and briefly gave a disapproving glance towards the man as he took another slurp on his beer. He looked towards me and seemed to question my opinion of the situation. The doors closed and the three of us continued our journey. All of us were heading towards the great metropolis. We had payed our fairs to sustain this tangled transportation network. Our contribution entitled us to belong. Money had validated our existence. Through the window I could see the green fields rush by in the wind.