You're waiting for your train in the rain again, with these strangers who still remain strangers despite the same faces gracing those station platforms most mornings of almost every day. Doors open. With eyes unfocused you cost past the clones of the blokes you swore you'd never become. And then you catch your reflection.

Punk isn't dead (it's just up for sale).

All the trendy young write like life's a movie. They're never the villain.