The commuter train was a sardine can. The air rancid with exhaled garlic.

I hiccuped, heaved, retched. Belched.

My nearest fellow travellers, servile strap-hangers, recoiled, lancing disapproving glares.

Result! A scintilla more breathable luft. A gnat's whisker more wriggle room.

The morning schlep to work. Inescapable. Invidious. Intrusive.

The morning pilgrimage to work. Imperative. Invigorating. Inspiring.

Paradox in suburban rush hour. Process dehumanising. Purpose deifying.

The divinity of work? Hardly. The Goddess of Gifford Group. Gorgeous Gwendoline. My secret lover.

Pushing through the station crowds. Resentful, reluctant employees. Polymorphous. Polyglot. Sheep. Vermin.

Leaden feet, sunken eyes. Some aggressive, ceding no territory. Some submissive, brushed aside. I was better than them.

The street was equally packed . A Lowry painting on speed. It was a relief to enter Gifford Tower's vestibule.

Quit the lift on the ninth. Enter my cage. Sit in my cell. Boot up the computer. Glare at the screen.

Would I do this if I didn't need the dough? What do you think? Well, there was Gwendoline.

Her cell was diagonally opposite, in front of mine. She couldn't see me watching her. Did she know?

I studied her every movement. Long graceful fingers dancing over the keyboard. Scarlet pointed nails.

I imagined them raking my spine, gouging my buttocks. I could smell her perfume. Intoxicating.

Expensive, French designer label. I had done my research. Shoulder length glossy black hair.

When she tossed it with her left hand I shivered. She did that just for me, didn't she?

Pink Givenchy satin blouse, low cut, exposing delicate ivory skin. Tease. Of course she knew.

Gwendoline eased fluidly, elegantly out of her chair, smoothing her black leather skirt over her hips.

She bent to check the seams in her silk stockings, slightly cocking her head and glancing backwards.

It was the signal! She was taking a break, beckoning me to join her. I knew this moment would come.

Gwendoline sashayed sexily towards the door. Stiletto heels tapping out my heartbeat. My name?

"Lenny, Lenny, Lenny," echoed and throbbed from the parquet floor.

I shut down the monster, slid out of my seat, and followed Gwendoline's scent trail to the door.

As I entered the lobby, I saw her pausing outside the entrance to the Ladies restroom. She turned.

Her eyes were alight. A manicured hand rested on each hip. Her moist red lips were slightly parted.

She was ready. She wanted me. At last. Be bold. Don't hesitate. I confidently approached, laying a hand on her arm.

"You know I think you're gorgeous, Gwen. We're soulmates."

Those piercing blue eyes flashed. Suddenly, the vibes were wrong, hostile.

"Freakin' pervert," she shrieked, slapping me hard.

As I sank to the floor, dismayed, hurting and betrayed, a rough male arm encircled my neck.

Big Willy, who occupied the cell behind me, had followed me out.

"What shall I do with this loser?" he grunted.

"Call Security!" were the last words I heard before losing consciousness.