The platform Sid arrived at was less crowded than it normally was. Some kind of signal failure was causing severe delays on its line, so he guessed that those who lived close to multiple stations were taking alternative routes. He sat down.  Not wanting to read the ads that all Tube benches seem to be placed opposite to, he took a look at the matte black tracks and tried to see if they were vibrating. Every now and then a rat flicked by – they never looked up. Sid turned around to see a young man in a green baseball cap and puffer jacket sit down right next to him, despite the many other vacant benches. He was close enough to smell the man’s sweat.
	‘Hello, how do ya do?’ said the man, extending a bony hand.
	Sid blinked for a moment and then shook the man’s coarse hand. It was the first time he’d ever spoken to a stranger on the Underground. ‘Hi,’ he responded.
	‘My name’s Pete,’ said the man, smiling with an open mouth.
	‘I’m Sid,’
	‘Oh ’ello Sid!’ he exclaimed, ‘Do you know if this platform goes to Baker Street? I’m not from around ’ere,’ he said, despite an East End accent.
	‘It does. But there are delays for this line. Baker Street takes several, so I guess you could get there faster by using another platform.’ Pete had several days of stubble and a constant smile.
	‘Cheers fam,’ said Pete. He turned away but didn’t move.
	‘They did say severe delays.’ Sid tried to remember if there was a nearby toilet he could feasibly excuse himself to.
	‘Nah, it’s calm fam. It’s nice to get a sit down.’
	‘Yeah…’ The toilets were back up the stairs, which would still be packed.
	‘Do ya read mahvuls?’ asked Pete.
	‘I don’t think so. What’s a mahvul?’ The initial nerves of surprise small talk had deadened.
	 ‘You ain’t heard of mahvul comics?!’
	‘Oh, Marvel?’
	‘O! Maaah-vell!’ he imitated like a period drama character, ‘Speakin’ like ya got a dick in yer mouth. Mahvul comics!’ His laugh sounded like a whistle.
	The anxiety was back. Sid wasn’t good at shifting accents. He’d been brought up all over the South so his wasn’t really set. Around family he was self-conscious about not enunciating enough ‘t’s and around friends he worried about doing too many. ‘I don’t read them. I read some X-Men when I was younger though,’ he said.
	‘Man, did ya see the new Wolverine one then?’ said Pete, his smile growing even wider.
	Sid wasn’t sure if Pete was really processing what he heard. ‘I didn’t,’
	‘Aw, I ain’t neither. But my cousin spoilt it for me.’ Pete’s smile was gone.
	‘Oh that’s not coo–‘
	‘–so Wolverine saves the day, yeah. Then right at the end, evil gay Superman comes out, and he decks Wolvie with his laserbeam shooter eyes. I couldn’t believe it.’ Pete shook his head vigorously.
	Sid couldn’t believe it either. How the fuck hadn’t a train come yet? ‘That sucks,’ he responded.
	‘And I was gonna go see it to. Pat’s gonna regret telling me that.’
	Sid wasn’t sure at what point the conversation had switched from comics to films. Pete’s voice had risen a bit so bystanders were occasionally glancing at them. A bedraggled office worker at the opposite end of the bench was unabashedly staring.
	‘Pat’s my cousin,’ said Pete.
	‘Nice,’ said Sid, it had sounded less sarcastic in his head.
	‘I’m gonna see Pat now actually. He’s just outta prison today, after ten bloody years!’
	‘So he saw the film after getting out of prison?’
	Pete was oblivious. His leg was juddering. ‘Pat’s always been jealous of me. ’Cos I got a real job, y’see.’
	Sid was running out of ways to back-channel politely. He tried not fixate on the prison thing. He had to stop himself from saying ‘nice’ again. ‘What do you do?’
	‘Spyin’, innit.’
	‘Spying?’
	‘Not as fun as it sounds. Spyin’ on perfume company tomcats.’
	‘Corporate espionage?’
	‘La-de-da stalking.’
	‘That sounds interesting. Do you have to follow specific people?’
	‘Fuckin’ Pat!’ shrieked Pete.
	Several people turned. A phone-rapt girl subtly sidled away. Sid had no idea what to say. Pete was sweating a lot; Sid was sweating just a little. ‘What’s the matter?’ Sid asked with inflection he hoped was gregarious and yet sombre.
	 Pat was teary-eyed. ‘I’m sorry fam. I’m sorry. The Tube’s always been ’ard for me. Man, and with Pat and the fucking mahvul. You been ’earin’ how loud the speakers ’ere are? Fuckin’ lark…’
	‘It’s fine. It’s OK. It’s no problem,’ said Sid, unsure what to do with his hands. He thought about patting Pete on the shoulder, then decided against it. He was scared of and scared for Pete.
	Pete spread out his arms like an eagle and came in for the hug. Sid’s stomach involuntarily spasmed as he realised what was happening. It was unavoidable. Sid patted him as they embraced, totally aware of how Pete’s tears and snot were diffusing into his jacket. People were looking over more often.The office worker was still staring. An Underground employee in a yellow safety-jacket popped out from round the corner, looked at Sid, nodded and disappeared.
	‘Thanks for that fam,’ said Pete, as the hug ended.
	‘It’s OK man,’
	‘Tube got way harder.’
	‘I hate it too.’ There was no place he wouldn’t rather be.
	‘Got way harder when they took my meds,’ said Pete.
	‘When who took your meds?’
	‘The Tube.’
	‘The Tube took your meds?’
	‘’Cos of the Circle line wastemans.’
	‘The what?’
	‘The Circle line partiers. Boozers. Revellers. ’
	‘But didn’t that ban alcohol?’
	‘Yeah, my meds.’
	‘Like, alcohol as self-medication?’
	‘Oh, y’know. ’Cos I’m schizo.’
	‘Oh.’
	‘It’s why do you don’t mess with me,’ said Pete as he prodded Sid in the chest. Sid was gradually sliding down the bench.
	‘I wasn’t messing with you…’ he said, looking around for help. The people around them were slowly moving away. A man in a suit tapped his watch vaguely and then started walking to the other end of the platform.
	 ‘You think I don’t count ’cos I’m not diagnosed.’
	‘I’ve never thought anything like that.’ Sid tried to appear calm despite his pounding heart. The office worker on the other end of the bench was taking great interest in his wrist-cuffs.
	‘I could kneecap ya.’
	‘You… but you wouldn’t?’
	‘That’s right.’
	‘Thank you?’
	‘Ya wanna know who the last person to mess with me was?’
	Sid really didn’t want to know.
	‘My cousin,’ said Pete, eyes boring into him.
	Pete jumped up from the bench and stomped off, mumbling about Pat and Superman’s sexual tendencies. The train arrived, seemingly in slow-motion. An African accent on the PA helpfully affirmed that there was indeed a train in front of him, and that Sid should mind the gap between the train and the platform for fear of tripping up and getting fucking kneecapped by Pete the professional stalker. Sid boarded with great care.