How a simple act of littering removes what little moral superiority that the police force has.
A policeman walks onto the half-full tube carriage that I currently occupy. He is in his mid-twenties, fairly average looking with light brown hair and eyes to match. He probably has a good looking girlfriend and is popular amongst his colleagues. An apparent emotion of disparagement hides behind the cold exterior the the policeman fronts as he has been seperated from his comrades by the length of half a train carriage. He takes another bite of the apple he has been eating since he walked through the ticket barrier of Oxford Circus station and he continues to chew this bite of his golden delicious while looking off into the distance, staring longingly at his group of peers who aptly ignore him, as if he were a sheep away from the herd, disowned by his fellows and staring oblivion in the face.
He continues to chew his apple as the train departs the station. Leaning nonchalantly on the side of the carriage by the back door, he slithers across the shell as it plumets through the dark, dank tunnel, screaming and hissing as it goes. He slowly, but surely stretches his arm, while giving me the coldest of stares, and rests his left hand, decimated apple in tow, on the open window of the door seperating the carriages. He proceeds to drop the apple into the gaping abyss that seperates the two carriages.
For the remainder of the journey that he and I share together his emotionless expression is instead replaced by a grim smugness that is feintly reminiscent of a child, thrilled that he has got away with his crime. I remained stunned for the next three-or-so stops and upon arrival at Marylebone I turn to leave the carriage and I ask him a question consisting of three simple words: "who's ruling who?"
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