To whom it may concern,
I'm writing to tell you about an incident on one of your services Friday gone, at about a quarter to nine in the morning.
There was a set-to between two men - it was the Sheffield train, obviously! - who started on each other when one wouldn't give up his seat for a woman.
The one who wouldn't stand up, a little squirt, said that the woman was okay enough on her feet
so he wasn't about to abandon a perfectly good seat. The other guy - he had a head shaped like a spud, God help him - called this runt disgrace and a bastard, and tried to separate him from his specs. What larks!
I'll tell you something, the little rat didn't like it up him! Fancy not moving - for a woman! He called old vegetable-face some choice names, and no mistake. On a train! To Sheffield! You'd never believe it!
Everyone was watching to see if Ratty would say something else and get his head taken off, but he just sat there reading The Guardian. What a fop! The Guardian! And all the while that poor cow's having to stand up!
It all simmered down after that, and spud-face didn't lay him out when they both got off at Sheffield, even though he'd said he was going to kill him. I saw that little ingrate about a couple of hours later, coming out of a sandwich shop.
Yours sincerely,
R. Queneau.
