EVANWORMHOLE DIARY

23/05

Bulb flickering like water dripping and one arm round the open heart of a religious type, feeling gods miracle on the metropolitan line, nodding off like they just took an Ambien. The other arm twists a grinder, discretely hidden under a coat loosely adapted from the Vietnam War, but the squeak of the plastic spinning talks like a lion's roar.

It alerts every passenger to say it and have it sorted by the British Transport Police, or take pity on the zombie head with the glowy skin who's potential would be better placed in 1970.

It drives me crazy

I slip on my unthinking cap