I board the busy train. There are delays on the line today, but thatâs okay - Iâm in no rush.
I notice that there is one available seat amongst a family of three. I approach knowing that the intense stare from the parents belied not a piercing warning, but the shared, childlike wonder for the true nature of the distribution of the prime counting numbers.
I smile a soft, inward smile.
I take my seat, place my chilled bottle of Smartwater on the table and from my canvas tote-bag remove, deliberately and in sequence:
a slim-ruled, 80gsm, off-white A4 note pad and accompanying Pilot G-TEC-C4 gel pen (black ink, of course);
a CASIO fx-CG50, its protective casing bearing the scars of a thousand theories and its âshiftâ button worn to a nub; and
a pristine copy of âon bounded gaps between primesâ (it thuds onto the shared table with a perfect middle C).
I mumble sweet nothings whilst I squint and strain to pretend to clean my circular wire-frame glasses with a microfibre cloth (I had in fact cleaned them only moments ago on the station platform.)
A steady stream of conscious subconsciousness permeates the carriage.
âRH⊠cannot be a Gödel problemâŠâ, âGoldbach⊠twin primes⊠both trivial when you think about themâŠâ
Finally, as the train begins to depart, I reach up to place my bag in the overhead storage compartment.
Upon raising my arms, tote aloft above my head, the small of my back is revealed by the slow untucking of my shirt.
That poor soul, sat in the seat immediately behind me and to my left, never stood a chance the moment they laid eyes on the barely perceptible tramp stamp that simply but unmistakably read:
prguitarman
ellievsbear
amandla
theartofmadeline
turnnoffyourmind
discoholicmusic
