Momentary Lapse

The man sits on the tube, a boy no more. He thinks, lost. Snapping out of his distractions he finds himself on a platform, Westminster, still three stops from his destination. Why did he get off? he wonders. It was an unintention, his body acting alone, guided by traces, leading him here. For what purpose? The dot matrix predicts another arrival in one minute. The added delay will be short. But necessary? As he and we wait for the next conveyor, he considers the concussions that will knock on. Perhaps approaching on the next train is the woman to complete him, or an old school friend, long forgotten and curiously missed. The train pulls in, and trusting to fate, he decides to board the carriage that stops closest. Once aboard he glances around, and is disheartened to see no one of note, no familiar stranger. Opposite a drunk cracks open another White Lightning. A thought strikes him, has he been brought here to be struck down. Fists will be thrown and a broken face will be the scar to bear witness to the followings of this feat. Further fabrication fails to materialise, and the three stops go by. Exiting this nonevent, he climbs the escalator and considers the path now taken, the car crash he will never have, the smiles he will never return, as he walks a full sixty seconds behind his more attentive self. He moves on and so on.