“But I just topped it up a couple days ago. Can’t you check it?”

The agent took the card and looked at it. He swiped it through a terminal beside the window. “Sorry, mate.” He pushed the card back through the slot. “The computer is down.”

“Okay, never mind,” Kit relented. He started digging in his pockets. “I’ll put five pounds on it.”

“You can do it online,” the agent informed him.

“But I’m here now,” Kit pointed out, “in person.”

“It’s cheaper online.”

“That is as may be,” Kit agreed. “But I have to travel now-today.”

“You can pay at a machine.”

“Right,” said Kit. Down on the platform below, he could hear the train clattering in and he hurried to the nearest ticket machine-which, after repeated attempts, refused to accept his five-pound note, spitting out the limp bill each time. The next machine along was for credit cards only, and the last of three was out of service. Kit ran back to the booth. “The ticket machine won’t take my money,” he said, sliding the fiver through the gap in the window. “Can you give me coin? Or another bill?”

The attendant regarded the crumpled bill. “Sorry.”

“Sorry what?”

“Computer’s down.”

“But I can see the money there,” Kit said, frustration mounting. He pointed through the window to a change machine cartridge stacked with rows of coins waiting to be dispensed. “Can’t you just reach over and get some money?”

“We’re not allowed to take money out of the machine.”

“Why not?”

“It’s automatic, and the comp-”

“I know, I know,” grumped Kit, “the computer’s down.”

“Try one of the other windows.”

“But there’s nobody at the other windows.”

The attendant gazed at him pityingly. “It’s Sunday.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Reduced service on Sunday.”

“No kidding!” cried Kit. “Why do you even bother coming to work?”