To the man at the train station

I wish, when I heard you say 'Way to push in. Yeah push in, pushy' that I turned around and said 'are you talking to me' like a sentence not a question and then poured my piping hot black coffee on you.

I moved away from my seats because you and your friend stank of cologne and were stinking up the train.

I don't care that you're on a 180k a year, your suit from Politix or Gazman or Rodd and Gunn makes you look like a real estate agent. 

That's derogatory in case you didn't know. 

I want you to know that I moved seats because if this train crashed and I died I would kill myself if I left this mortal coil know that the last thing I heard was the worst conversation on earth and the last thing I smelt was your disgusting aftershave and the last thing I saw was your work issued Lenovo laptop.

What are you? Do you work in account service at an advertising agency. Good for you, big boy. 

Grow up and wear socks with leather shoes. Noone wants to imagine your feet in sockettes.

I bet you've never once in your life appreciated a horny full moon and a sky so full of stars it almost looks like you're looking at a city at night. I hope the moment you die you don't feel an incredible rush of pure ecstasy. I hope when you die it's comical and embarrassing and noone finds you for a while. 

From

The short person who knew the exact correct spot to stand to open the door to the vline train at 6.43 in the morning.