Personal

First impressions

As we pulled out of Ipswich the tattooed man opened his second can of Stella. It wasn't yet eleven in the morning. His head was shaved. He seemed agitated. He kept asking the time and how far we were from London.

My first impression wasn't good.

As the train rolled on towards the city we started to chat. He's been inside. He was let out this morning. (I'll grant him a celebratory drink or two then!)

"It did me good," he said. He had a glint in his eye. Not one of mischievousness. One of expectation and hope. "My whole life is ahead of me." But this wasn't someone appealing to his parole board. These words came from the soul.

My first impression was way off.