Shiny fat man

There I was, Thursday evening, boarding the Tozai line bound for Nakano from Nihonbashi, where I work. I was feeling very tired and not really looking forward to going home, as my wife and I had had an awful argument last night, didn't resolve it before going to bed and so slept very badly as a result. Plus my boss was being a right wanker, due to his impending divorce from his oh too young hotty of a wife (who personally I think only married him for the divorce settlement). So I was getting grief all over the place, felt worn out like an old ironing board and fed up with the cold wet weather.I had a vague notion of calling my friend, Tom, and go for a drink or five in Shibuya, but quickly thought better of it - really wouldn't go down well with her in doors.
I pushed into the too crowded carriage, and wiggled my way into a corner, where I could lean against the window and study all the grey faces around me. Doing this gave me enormous pleasure, as I had always found faces fascinating and strange. If you look at a face for long enough, it begins to make less and less sense, just like if you look at a word for too long - it seems to loose it's meaning. Anyway, there I was, lost in my own private reverie, when we pulled into Kudanshita, where I had to change trains. I pushed my way through the mosh pit of expensive wool overcoats, and staggered out of the doors, just as the" warning, warning doors closing" alarm rang. I had to pull my briefcase free from the throng compressed within the carriage, and by doing so dislodged a large, rotund man of indeterminant age, who spiralled out as I yanked.
He was big, not in a fatty way but in a dangerously solid way. He had on a double breasted, light blue, too shiny suit, matched by a too shiny tie which seemed to sparkle in the low light. There was not a single hair on his polished head, or for that matter on his face - even the eyebrows were eerily missing.
As he slowed his spinning form, without breaking his momentum, he lashed out a fierce kick which caught me squarely in the bollox. My vision was suddenly intruded by starbursts, dancing like demented angels in front of me. My knees crashed onto the concrete floor, and I began to retch huge gulps of bile, my eyes watering and my hearing tuning into only the higher frequencies. I was cupping my broken family jewels, unable to think of anything and hoping the shiny fat man wasn't going to come in for seconds.
I looked up slowly, unable to suppress a deep, painful moan as his fist crunched into my nose. I heard a loud crack, and a horrible grinding noise as his knuckles wiggled from side to side accross my pulverized nose. When I opened my eyes, all I could see was a sea of crimson red, gushing down like Niagra Falls onto my white shirt and favorite suit. Tears raced down my cheeks, as he withdrew his fist and stepped back. He produced a shiny red silk hankerchief from out of nowhere, like a magician, and carefully bagan to wipe the blood from his knuckles. He bagan to chuckle to himself, and soon this chuckle became a laugh, and then the laughing became louder and faster. It was infectious, and even though I was feeling the worst pain that I'd ever experienced in my life, I too began to laugh. Great big guffaws of laughter. We couldn't stop, and my chest was hurting from the exertion.
All this time, people were just making their way around us, looking straight through us as if we weren't even there.
After this, going home to the wife seemed not such a bad thing after all.