Cold hard poo.

I found myself on a metro today sat between a couple who used me as a go-between due to some dispute they were having regarding rice.

Here’s what I can remember of the conversation we had. I’ll miss out the repitition of me passing on their sentences to each other so as not to irritate.

Woman: For god’s sake, <Man’s name>, would you tell him to stop.
Man: Do you really have to do that?
Woman: He’s talking to you. Stop repeating us.
Man: Just stop talking. Wait til we get to our stop.
Woman: OK we’ll just shut up then.

I thought they were both on the way to some sort of protest because their clothes were all made of recycled diy materials like sandpaper and wood. I pointed out the problematic constitution of their clothing but they started speaking in French when I realised I’d boarded a plane, drunk, and was talking to a man advertising cabin-pressurised pneumatic black & decker tools and their dual uses as both emergency aero-planing devices and legal self-defence weapons.
By the time I’d worked all of this out I’d already engrosed myself in the in-flight movie for several minutes while failing to realise I was still on the train.

woman: I wonder why he’d done that. Maybe he’s got some form of tourettes or something.
man: Oh fucking fanny bollocks he’s started again.