Albert (standard:drama, 713 words)
Author: KShaw	Added: Oct 31 2005	Views/Reads: 3304/0	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
He didn't work every day but on those he did he was expected to use great skill.

The day had begun in no particularly special way. It had, in fact, begun
the way every working day had begun for the past ten years. There was 
no intoxicating success to consider as he swayed with the rocking of 
the train, heard the rasping of newspapers, and listened to the 
intermittent coughing of fellow traveller's. 

The train pulled into its final destination at 8.16. Albert checked his
watch. 

Wearing a ponderous black overcoat and carrying his many times repaired
briefcase, he was absorbed, like a thief, into the shivering mass of 
people entering the vast city. Jostled along in the wave of peevish 
people, the chill air scented with brylcream, coffee, peppermint, and 
the overpowering decoction of old perfumes and aftershaves, mingling 
with stale tobacco ash, Albert listened to the irritated mutterings as 
the confraternity moved sluggishly toward the exit. There a large, 
florid man, puffy faced with strangely colourless eyes, collected 
tickets from people arriving from Bradford. 

Albert entered the huge precinct of the station and walked purposefully
to the seating area beneath the great clock. He sat, again checking his 
watch as he did so, and opened his briefcase. From it he removed two 
brushes, wrapped in a yellow cloth, and a can of Cherry Blossom black 
shoe polish. These things he placed on the bench before bending forward 
to untie the shoelace of his right shoe, which he then removed. He 
opened the can, dabbed the brush precisely into the polish, and began 
the ritual of cleaning his shoes. 

Years of travelling up and down the country had taught him that cleaning
his shoes at home, only to have them trampled upon by irritable and 
impatient people, all trying to beat the clock, was an absurdity. 
Wrapping up the brushes, closing the lid, he checked his watch. 8.32. 

He sat for three minutes to gather his thoughts. He could, with trained
practice, shut out the noise of the rush hour, enjoying the aroma's 
that wafted in curls through the air, and eyes shut single out his 
favourite, the fried sausages. 

At 8.35, he left the station precinct and entered into the London air.
People, he observed, moved cautiously, leaning forward against the fall 
of snow, hats held fast with gloved hands and scarves covering misting 
mouths. He walked upright and proud and at 8.37, he collected his 
morning paper from the ruddy cheeked, cloth capped vendor. He neatly 
folded the newspaper before opening the briefcase against his lap, and 
placed it neatly inside. The chap cheerfully voiced the opinion that 
such a day was not a day for the living. Albert smiled, lifted a hand 
to salute his departure, and continued toward the taxi rank. 

The driver tipped his hat in recognition. Albert climbed inside. There
was no mention of destination. The driver honked his horn and pulled 
away from the kerbside. Albert opened his briefcase, removed the 
newspaper, and sat it next to him. He also removed a whisky flask. 
After closing the briefcase, brushing the wetness to the floor of the 
taxi cab, and sitting it flat on his lap, he unturned the screw of the 
flask. The sensation of taste on his tongue teased his need. He 
savoured the warmth falling toward his belly before taking another long 
sip from the flask. He screwed back the top and placed it reverently 
back in the briefcase. 

The headlines of his newspaper were in large ominous black print. 

‘Derek Bentley to be hanged today.' 

Albert read the article with fascination. 

When the cab came to a halt, the driver turned to him. Albert paid over
sixpence for the journey and got out. He stood beneath the gate and 
straightened his coat, looking up at the notice. ‘H.M.P. Wandsworth' 

The train rattled its way back to Bradford through the evening light.
Albert sat upright, absorbed in the game of wondering what people were 
thinking. Momentarily disturbed by the clattering of a train passing in 
the opposite direction, he opened his briefcase, removed the chrome and 
leather bound whisky flask, and drank the remnants. 

Lying flat among the shoe cleaning materials was a calf-leather strap, a
white cotton hood, some government papers, and three five pound notes. 
Albert placed back the empty whisky flask and snapped shut the brass 
clasps. 


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