11:15 Oxford Road

Havin’ no desire to miss the last train and have’t spend a cold night curled up in a photie booth till the next service at 5:50am, I left the warmth of the pub just before the train was due. Up the slope and onta the right-hand platform, as is custom, and I joined the ranks staring at the murky floor, clutchin’ bags, arms and each other. The bitter cold nips through us as it always does on this high, uncovered station, chillin’ even the brightest of travellers into a resigned look. Only a few late night revellers wearin’ thick beer jackets seem immune te the weather and fall over each other, singin’ and shoutin’. The dull, yellow light of the waiting room is invitin’ and repulsive at the same time.

The train slowly pulls in, an, as one, we all shuffle quickly te the doors. The loud group at the end seem determined to make as much as a kerfuffle about getting on as is possible, red-faced and white shirted, they carry on singin’ as they barge on past tha few people tryna get off.

Meself, I’m more polite, but still determined. As soon as the last person is off I step on in one bound. I am going to get a fuckin’ seat. I push along and spot the nearest wiv a window seat still free. It’s still gonna be a while before we move off, always the shittest fucking set of carriages they can dig out too. I press me face against the cold glass, past the reflections from the carriage lights, and block out the banter and chatter and noise of the engine tickin’ over and imagine livin’ in one of the posh flats by the station. After a few more of these runs maybe eh. I look around at me fellow passengers, all headin’ back to Merseyside this late for their own reasons.

Lovers on their way back home alone as late as possible, commuters that ha’t stay behind in their miserable jobs, stag dos, hen dos, leavin’ dos and general nights out on the piss nearin’ their end.

I guess some of em might be coming for a night out in Liverpool, not many tho. It’s nerlee always the other way round. We would always need the Mancs more than they needed us. We’re like a retarded younger brother, an embarrassment they reluctantly associate with. Always laggin’ behind, needing help and a way inte the outside world.

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One Response to “11:15 Oxford Road”

  1. January 04, 2012 at 9:25 pm, 11:15 Oxford Road « Kenn Taylor said:

    […] This story appeared on the website Rainy City Stories. […]


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