Train travel in a silver train box
I often look at myself in the reflection on the train. There's no one next to me, I clutch my phone or loosley hold my book. More often than not I'm relaxed in my seat, my shoulders forward. My hair falls over my cheekbones and lies on my back, my neck bent in concentration beneath the mane of strawberry blonde.
I can see the world passing by in the dark, lights and company logos, familiar sights. There's a funny panic, sometimes, when I'm happily absorbed in my book or notes, and the geography warns me of the end of the journey.
But sometimes, I'm just glad to be at home and about to engross myself in The Doctor.
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