(and I do mean short - this is a blog not a book)..
As the train pulled out of the station, Poi settled himself comfortably into a corner seat. His hair was unfashionably long and in dreadlocks. His clothes smelt slightly of Nag Champa. He could pass without comment in London or Brighton but the train passed through Ridicule, Distrust, Suspicion and the little halt at Abuse.
On the train it was safe and the other passengers were art students.
To begin with he was content to listen to the conversation but when it turned to a Dadaist exhibition in Paris, he had to smile and comment,
“Of course you know why they drive on the right over there.”
They didn’t
“Well back in the day,” he said relaxing into the story, “everyone in Europe drove on the left. So they were all patiently driving on the left when Napoleon decreed that his tanks were going to drive on the right. They would overtake anyone on the left and anyone coming towards them would have to get out of the way. There was a lot of ill feeling about this among the peasants but soon people realised they could drive on the right too so that was what happened.”
There was a silence in the carriage.
The conversation reverted to the Dadaist exhibition and again Poi was just content to listen, until the train was nearing Brighton he interjected,
“Of course there was that scandal.”
And they looked at him.
“There was that big scandal about Dada because he used to go around stealing kittens.”
As the train pulled in to the station one student leaned close to Poi and confided.
“There wasn’t a person called Dada.
“It’s just a meaningless word.”
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