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He'd lived in London for four years, yet he still hadn't understood how dangerous a place it was.
Now here he was, asleep on the Underground following a particularly heavy drinking session after work. It was lucky nobody had robbed him or molested him, but this didn't occur to him.
He woke up with a start, desperate for the toilet. He had no idea he'd missed his stop - that was three stations ago.
He stood up and staggered along the carriage as the train clickety-clacked along at great speed.
"Toilet," he drunkenly slurred to himself.
He reached the door at the end of the carriage and regarded it with pissed confusion.
He slid the window down and was greeted by a blast of cool, sobering air. Not sobering enough though.
He dropped his trousers and pants to his ankles and began urinating through the open window.
"Hey! You shouldn't do that!" shouted a man sitting nearby.
He was in mid-flow and couldn't stop if he wanted to.
"The lines!" shouted the man.
It was too late. The urinating man's groin exploded in a flash of blue electricity and he fell to the floor as all the power went out.
The train stood there for 45 minutes.