Another day, another morning on a vacuum packed Bakerloo line train. I couldn't move my hand up to my face to scratch my nose. It itched like mad. An Israeli man was intimately close to me; closer than I've ever been to another man. There's some sort of an inspirational message for peace in there but I'm not sure what it is.
I felt someone's knee go right up my arse. Enough to feel violated. When the train reached Oxford Circus, the doors opened and as everyone came off, I realized that there was no knee there. It was the back of a very small woman's head. What you might call a midget if you were of a politically incorrect persuasion.

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