Back to the Floor

The concrete floor was as cold and hard as you might expect. Leftwing Idiot put his bag under my head as a pillow.

My left arm went dead from the weight of my body pressing down on it and stayed rigid while the rest of my body contorted around it.

The ticket hall was thronging with commuters. During my fifteen minute ‘ticcing fit’ I saw hundreds of feet rushing by and occasionally the faces of strangers offering help, or just glancing at me as they hurried away. I worried someone might call an ambulance, but Leftwing Idiot made it clear we could manage and politely thanked everyone who stopped to offer help.

I couldn’t speak or control what was going on but I did think how odd it was to be having this strange view of Holborn Underground station.

Soon the fluorescent-clad backs of station staff formed a glowing screen around me and prevented people walking into me.

There’s not much to be done in this situation except wait it out.

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