Eight minutes

In the eight minutes I have to write this, what might happen to me? The other man on the platform could decide that he wants to be the only man on the platform. Six minutes. The sound of the newspaper as he turns the pages, almost violently, rushing through the news without any interest in them. He just wants to appear normal. Four minutes. He is standing at the end of the platform, where I am supposed to board the metro as well. More people arrive. Witnesses if he ever were to try something. Two minutes. He throws the newspaper on to the tracks. Looks at me. I can see that he does not care about witnesses as his eyes becomes more and more visible to me. He grabs me. The train is coming.

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