A continuation of this idea about a train journey that may or may not feature in my idea for a novel set in the near future...
Armand found a double seat to himself, and sat down. He looked out of the window and watched the station platform move slowly off into the distance.
He looked at his fellow passengers. None of them seemed concerned that there were enough seats for everyone. Not the businessmen talking about the meeting they were heading to. Not the young woman listening to music and sharing the tinny bass sound with the rest of the carriage. Not the man on his phone, being nagged by his mother about his lack of career progression.
And not the man on the opposite seat, tearing up official documents, and placing the scraps into the top of his rucksack. Maybe he just never had the time at home, but this seemed an odd place to be disposing of unwanted correspondence.
It mostly seemed to be letters from AFS Bank, the local council, and some organisation Armand didn't recognise. In fact, looking at the names and addresses on each of the letters, it seemed to be a conversation between three people at those organisations. One of whom was Anna Seacheck, Armand's ex-wife.
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