That Usain Bolt moment.
Underneath all the Goth. The black drainpipes and the John Cooper Clarke hair.
Lurked a lithe athlete. A fireball of synchronised speed.
Approaching Cark Station in the New Haven staff minibus. With its airbrushed logos
And its clockwork driver. She is coiled to the desperate possibility that she might miss her train. It might depart before she can get on board.
There is a fraction of a second’s chance that she might make it. The side sliding train doors are already automatically caving in. She floats through the bus door without opening it and sprints at the train with explosive limb synched beauty. Legs flaming. Arms like sparklers. The millions of TikTok watchers have all stopped breathing as she leaps at the remaining gap in the vice. Seems to slide into that sliver of vanished opening that doesn’t exist. The train guard is framed in the window with a face that cannot believe what it is seeing. Too dazed to act on his natural urge to issue a red card.
She lands two footed on the train carriage floor and, with her back to the TikTok viewers, she raises her arms in salute. She will make it home tonight to her own bed. She hands the guard her ticket and in slow motion sits down in her seat.
.
Gary Boswell
.