He was still thinking about nothing, when he boarded the busy Inter City 125, and sat down with his newspapers and his magazines. As the train was about to move off, someone squeezed into the seat opposite him and deposited four large cans of strong lager on the table. The youth was tall and hard-looking with shorn hair. He glared at Rebus and turned up his personal cassette player. Tscchh-tscchhtscchh it went, so loud Rebus could almost make out the words. The youth was grasping a ticket denoting Edinburgh as his destination. He put the ticket down and pulled on a ring-pull. Rebus shook his head wearily and smiled.
His own personal hell. As the train pulled away, he caught its rhythm and beat that rhythm out silently in his head.
FYTP FYTP FYTP FYTP FYTP FYTP
All the way home.
The End
