London—Darlington, July 1987

That’s it, actually. That’s the whole story. She was a very old lady, and she died. The first time I ever travelled by long-distance coach, and an old lady died two feet from my knees.

I was young, and it was the first time I was ever the seat behind death.

I’m not sure how long she was dead before someone noticed. But they did. And they covered her with a blanket until we got to the next services, where they took her off, and we all got back on. I’m not sure what they did with her then. It wasn’t a very good services. Not even a Happy Eater, as far as I remember. Though, of course, at that point she didn’t need a Happy Eater.

It was the last time I travelled by coach for the next thirteen years. And the next time I did, someone masturbated at me.

But that’s another story.