When the going gets weird

By Slybacon

The long road home

7.30 something in the morning, London time. The plane spits me out into baggage reclaim and passport control. Still groggy, my legs take me to the tube. I disembark at Piccadilly circus. Still ages till my train. Need to find coffee. "Soho is FULL of coffee!" screams my limbic system.

Coffee. Stagger with rucksack. More coffee. Then Kings Cross. Notice the weather is much nicer in the UK than I expected it to be. I Sweat while waiting for my train at two.

I board the train. Tolerance has curled up and died inside of me. The two people who sit next to me are cheese and onion crisp munching, Sun reading cretins. They are my enemy. They are the worst people who have ever walked gods green earth. I am losing my mind. Breathe. You're almost home.

I doze. I fidget. I drink coffee. I return finally home.

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