Piccadilly Progress

Every time a new person stepped foot on the platform, the collective IQ of the waiting would-be passengers slipped down a point. Patience and philosophy left the building. They shuffled pointlessly, pushed and pined.

"Stand behind the yellow line," the authority-devoid staffer implored, but, every few feet along, little victims found themselves forced almost over the edge, going cross-eyed from fear.

There had to be simpler, better ways of doing this. Every single person on this platform earned more money than you or I. They must have heard of ants or bees, yet learnt nothing from either.