Candy

It’s hard to imagine life before Candy. Sometimes I sit here for hours, staring into the past, trying to remember what it was like, but I never seem to get very far. I just can’t see myself without her. About the best I can manage is the last half-hour before we met, the last few moments of my pre-Candy existence, when I was still just a boy … just a boy on a train, a boy with a lump, a boy in a starry black hat.
I was innocent then.
Just a boy.
On a train.
With a lump.
And a hat.
That was all the world I needed to know.
It was Thursday, February 6, about five o’clock in the
afternoon, and the London-bound train was almost
empty. The trains passing by on the opposite track were
packed to the roof with steamed-up commuters heading
back home after a hard day’s work, but the only other passengers
travelling with me were a couple of shift workers, a
drunk guy in a suit, and a gaggle of good-time girls setting
off early for a night on the town. I couldn’t actually see the
girls – they were sitting somewhere behind me – but I
could hear them giggling and laughing and screeching at
each other, letting everyone know how much they were
enjoying themselves. It was hard not to listen to them;
harder still when they started their full-volume whispering –
You shoulda seen it, Jen – like THIS …
No!
I nearly DIED, girl …
Heeeeee!!