A short story dedicated to Dark Candy

She was rushing to her tube station, walking as quickly as her heeled black boots would allow. Although a passing pedestrian would have quickly assumed that she must be late for work as the reason for her fast pace, her concerns lie not there. But with the letter in her bag. She had seen it that morning and new instantly who it was from, that it would maker her smile and just as importantly think. Her personality was such that she did not immediately open it. She was going to wait until she was on the tube going to work. Let them have their Metro, she had a letter from a far away friend. On the tube she was surprised at getting a seat, which she rushed into as if it was a velvet covered wing chair in front of a fire place next to a window from which the reader of the letter could glance at the damp grey world and feel happiness that the glass kept out the melancholia singing outside. Beginning reading the letter, which was addressed to her in the Magic Kingdom and was issued in the land of Oil and Gas, she began to laugh with honest amusement and appreciative kindness. A man several seats away saw her unfold the letter, look at an enclosed postcard and begin to smile. He saw her smile travel through her body not unlike the tube train snaking its way through the passage. In an instant her tired eyes looked less tired. She began laughing. Real laughter, not the feaux kind that is volleyed in a conversation, but the kind that has an integrity because it won't be answered back. He noticed several people look at her laughter, some appreciated, some thankful, a few persons resentful of course. This is London. He searched in his mind for a memory of his own laughter but the memory bank was empty. It had been heisted for a while now. He knew that despite his 29 years of age he looked older. His eyes reflected pain. His smiles felt false. I don't want to be here he thought. I don't want to be surrounded by people (their presence, its stifling!); let me just get to my office. His life that day flashed before him: walking out of the tube, and almost straight into his office, glancing at figures, making calls, writing documents and emailing the parties.
His numb eyes recorded that he was at his stop. He quickly got up and rushed off the train, glancing at the top of the letter girl's head. Keep smiling he thought. He wanted that thought to act like a lucky penny; if he made it perhaps in a karmic sense he would have a smile moment himself. He continued to step quickly, past the tills and into the greylight. Then into the building where he earns his paycheque.. The doorman of the office building saw him rush out then in, more furious than usual. He thought that the doorman probably assumed it was because he wanted or desired to begin his work day. But he just wanted to get away from the people, and maybe find his own smile.