The descent began. Over the edge he went, feet first. To the left, the shining screens beckoned with jumping cats, new TVs and even cheaper flights to the holiday of your dreams. He looked away. He looked ahead, or rather, downwards. Nobody else around, just him, the shining steel and hardened rubber handrail.

You know when somebody is staring at you. She looked up… and held his gaze. An alarm bell rang silently in his head, with red lights flashing, dimly. Only something bad can come of this – but there was no answer to this foreboding voice in his head. He reached out his hand, palm up, open. She did nothing, for the longest second known he had ever known. Still too late, their fingertips only managed to brush, but looking back, a smile was exchanged. She reached the top of the escalator, feeling reassured, happier, and continued her way home with a far lighter step.

Harold put down the magazine and felt so motivated, his hairy palms started to sweat. He would have pushed past the old granny in front but considered the fact that fate would probably make sure that she would be related to the girl he would undoubtedly meet. He was on his way. However, at the foot of the escalators, he noticed that a) it was packed b) everyone was looking down or at the adverts and c) he was going up, not down like in the story. He convinced himself this wouldn’t matter.

Looking up, a mass of grey and black shoulders faced him. He had to keep his resolve. Never give up, never.

And there she was, coming over the top of the horizon, a strawberry blonde in a blue boob tube and golden leggings. He stared hard and projected his resolve in her direction.

I’m looking at you. I’m looking… look at me. Look at me!

Look at me!!

You can often sense when somebody is checking you out. She looked up at him! …and swiftly away. He continued to stare. The only other option was defeat. She never looked back. Down she went and disappeared into the shadows.

He almost fell over the escalator as he came off, still looking back.

Deviating from his destination, he stopped into a pub. Over his fourth pint, he concluded to himself:

Oh, then suddenly you know
You’re never going home
You’re never you’re never you’re never you’re never you’re never you’re never
You’re never going home.
Not Ulysses, baby.
No, la la la la whooo whoohoo