Murder on his Mind

Yesterday, I almost murdered naturalbornkaos.

I was on my way home, changing tube trains at a particularly infernal Bank station, when I spotted him standing on the platform, reading a horror novel. I approached him quietly. I imagined his body falling on the tracks, the central line train cutting his body, splattering the sweaty commuters and the posters advertising third-world getaways.

Just as my hands grabbed him from behind and pushed, images of life in prison flooded my head; I immediately held on to his body and stopped him from falling on the tracks. You can guess how startled and shocked he was after staring death in the face.

We chatted while tube trains stuffed like sausages came and went. Finally, we decided to be assertive and push into a somewhat empty train. We said our goodbyes at Liverpool station and I made a mental note of stabbing him to death next time I see him (a possible cinema excursion).

I know you are not fond of Tarantino, but how about Grindhouse when it comes to London?