Quote:But what is the plan? Is this the plan? To sit here, with my chin on my chest, bouncing harshly along with the bumpity-bump of the rails? And really, is that all I’m doing? It’s an existential point, but when I’m this busy inside, can anyone really say that I’m not doing anything? The mere appearance of inactivity does not necessarily denote apathy. Just because they can’t see the firing of the synapses, doesn’t mean they’re not, in fact, all a-blaze!
The conductor is gone. Now it’s just me and the queers.
(Carst — )
How many are there? Let me see... Well, let me hear, anyway. Let’s see how I do with my senses. The first is to my right — entirely too close for my liking, but that’s British Rail for you. I’m guessing he’s tall — his voice, when he speaks, seems to come from above. He’s probably skinny, judging from his reedy, tinny voice. He likely has a long, thin, peacock neck with a stubbled, protuberant Adam’s apple. He’s looking at someone on the other side of the cabin. Is there love in that look? Lust, perhaps? Makes me sick. Reminds me of —
“So how’s Anthony?”
That’s all I need to know. Obviously they’re both queer, and they know each other — Oh, you know, from that time on the heath, the gang-bang in the bushes — you remember...
Hark at me! Making assumptions about things I don’t know as if I ever knew anything about anything! They sound young, they could be virgins! Maybe they’ve never done — that — before. Maybe they’re not like —
“He’s good. He’s got a job at last.”
Okay, the mystery shallows. Queer One and Queer Two are ‘acquaintances’. Or friends. Probably not lovers. Sounds like they’re being polite with one another. Or perhaps that’s just me. Perhaps they’re not being open because I’m there and they don’t want to share their nasty homosexual secrets with the great, unwashed hetero.