Angels

A Girl Called Mercy Holland was happy. He brushed his way past the tourists onto the platform, and onto the escalator. What were the bloody Japanese doing here at eight in the morning? He squeezed his way up the left side of the escalator, letting his briefcase bang against the legs of the fat bitch that got in his way at the bottom. The vibrations he felt in his hand were so satisfying he let his briefcase hit the legs of everyone he passed. The briefcase was sturdy enough. The person ahead of him at the barrier was having trouble. Holland pretended not to notice, and walked straight through him, briefcase first. On the other side of the barrier Holland paused. The man was on his knees, swearing in some foreign language. Oh yes. Holland was happy.