![]() Despite the flat shoes, my feet ache, thanks to standing by the filing cabinets for most of the day. The rest of the carriage fills quickly, and I glance at the people still stand ing, guiltily relieved to see no one old, or obviously pregnant. My careful position ing means I can slide into my favorite spot before the carriage fills up: on the end of the row, where I can lean against the glass barrier. I flick through photos of bearded men, and move to find the crack in the tarmac beneath the platform sign, where the carriage door will open. The police have foiled another terrorism plot: the front three pages are rammed with images of explosives they’ve seized from a flat in North London. I have to wait for my train, and at the rack by the ticket machine, I pick up a copy of the London Gazette, its headlines appropriately grim for today’s date: Friday, 13 November. ![]()
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