Spit and polish

There was the usual sense of high-visibility on my way to work today. Out in force were the police, cleaners, private security, train operating company staff manning the turnstiles, and a banana rendered bright yellow under one of the harsh artificial lights of the WHSmith's housed in the steely grey train station. I witnessed the last bit of the banana brazenly peeled and eaten by a man in close proximity to a table with neatly stacked piles of paperback books, while he perused the titles and covers.

At work I heard about a member of staff spitting in one of the canteen bins. I forgot about this until my afternoon tea break when someone from security opened his mouth over the bin I was sitting next to and waited for the chewing gum to fall out. This incident wasn't technically spitting as he didn't use any force and it was a calm, quietly executed act. I was sat on a stone seat, which was so smooth I had to sit upright otherwise I started to slide off, the soles of my feet unable to get any purchase on the smooth polished floor as they slithered with my slumped body in tow.