The 8:08 train to London stopped at the platform under a sky as wintry as a frozen windscreen. A woman, who was dressed in an overcoat as beige as a sandy beach in southern climes and boots as black as a river of spilled ink got onboard and moved as quick as a dolphin dancing through the waves to find a seat. Upon sitting down she was confronted by a man, with hair as curly as a bowl of kale who was holding her scarf that she had dropped like a handkerchief in olden day films. She blushed a little the colour of pink sky in the morning and said thank you. He lingered like a pimple, it seemed like he had wanted to say something, but didn’t and walked off as quick as he had arrived. The next morning they were seen exchanging smiles.