An encounter on the 'St Petersburg Express'

I am on the way to the train station, footsteps clip clop alongside me now, a little too close, my space is being invaded, I give the man a sideways glance as I veer off to the side, we
exchange stealthy looks.

And would you believe it he plonks himself down on the seat opposite me on the train
into London, now jeeringly called the St Petersburg Express by locals.
I look across at him he has an air of  stricken insight.
He gets out his computer
and starts munching sweets as furrows his brow to look at the screen. Then he starts sneezing
and I imagined microscopic life forms teeming toward me as they ricochet off tables and windows into by breathable space.
Oh, who was it who said, 'hell is other people.' It is an hour into London and that time
will be computed in heartbeats