A Text Message.

An evening train journey home in the rain and the dark.
I find a seat, find my book, find my place, start to read.

A text message.

Hi! I've chosen the subject for my dissertation.

Cool.

Roll Over Beethoven. It's going to be on the movement away from classism in 1960's film music and its cultural and ideological context.

Great.

It is great. No one else has done this.

Sounds amazing.

I find my place again, start to read again.

A text message.

Netflix recommendation: Get Me Roger Stone.

Right.

You have to watch it.

Ok.

It's about this Republican strategist who's basically had a hand in every election since Nixon.

Ok.

He's literally like a super villain.
Nice.

The book. Turn a page. Begin to read again.

A text message.
Can we make it coffee instead of lunch I have to teach?
Sure.
9.30. Same place.
Lovely.

I stare out of the train window.

A text message.

Hello. Are you on the train?

Yes.

I was thinking stir fry.

Ok. 
Is there any veg though?

No.

I'll get some from Tesco on my way.

Great. 

Chop garlic, ginger and fresh chili.

The train pulls into the station. I get off, walk home, blasting ACDC through my earphones. At home I sit and drink a beer.

A text message.

They discharged me. I'm home!

Hooray! I've been so so worried about you. You must never be ill again and you must promise to absolutely never ever die.

OK. I PROMISE.

Love E x

@DOESNOTDOIT

P.S. A text message.