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I sat watching the pigeons strut around my feet, their heads bobbing, pecking at the ground for invisible crumbs, stopping every so often to assess their place in life and then continuing with their arduous task. I began to wonder into the abyss of my thoughts, anywhere would be better than this dreary tube station. As I begin to sink deeper in I began to think how I’m not that different from those pigeons, grasping at the crumbs on the floor that fall from the top table, desperately trying to get their hands on the whole loaf of bread yet never quite reaching their goal. Although I’m at least a level higher than the pigeons, because to them I’m at the top table, I’m in control, me, Ian Shultz.
My trail of thought was interrupted by the horrid sound of grinding teeth belonging to the man to the left of me, this man being Charlie Dougs. A freak of the highest standard and yet for some reason a good friend of mine, something that I had never fully understood. Grinding his teeth was a trait of Charlie’s, a usual side effect of his addiction to speed, along with his usual shaking, normally most apparent in his hands. His twitching was not an effect of him taking the drug immediately but was a long term effect due to his long term use of the drug leaving him with paranoia and a severe case of anxiety. His non stop shakes left him less of a man and more of a constant blur of movement.
To my left was the complete opposite, hardly any movement at all, if it wasn’t for sight you wouldn’t even know Babié was there. Babié being short for Babiénco Del Fuegos, he was Puerto Rican and didn’t speak much, maybe because he didn’t understand much. It always took him a while to put two and two together and when he tried doing so it normally made seven. He was tall, with jet black hair, darkish complexion and I swear I never saw the man without a lighted cigarette in his hand. If a bullet didn’t get him first then I was sure lung cancer would, though to most a bullet is far from anywhere in there daily lives, for us three a bullet was as common as muck. Though not many people’s job tools include a gun, and their job description doesn’t normally involve killing for a certain price. Hitmen being the correct term to be affiliated with our sorts, though you’d think with such a well paying job we would have better scenery than a dingy tube station, complete with homeless men and the occasional smell of piss.
I glanced at the clock, 5:02 am, the train was late by 2 minutes, nothing major yet Charlie’s shaking and teeth grinding increased due to the fear of some terrible thing preventing the train from arriving on time. For the first time I noticed the carton of milk he had in his hand that he was swigging mechanically, trying to comfort himself with it somehow. As his imagination began to run wild and he began to loose what little control he had left, the train pulled into the station. I caught a reflection of myself as it screeched to a halt, me sitting in my creaseless black suit complete with white shirt and black tie, fitting attire for a man in my line of business, made me look rather stylish. My hair brownish verging on black slicked back though the stubble on my face let the side down a bit, withdrawing the effect of a sharply dressed man. Though compared to Charlie’s lightly bearded face, scruffy blonde shoots of hair I looked like the best dressed man alive.
As the people clambered off the train we rose stepping from the platform onto the tightly cramped coffin. Charlie going first, squeezing into a spot only a man of his weight could have squeezed into, him being the weight of a ragdoll on a diet, meanwhile me and Babié found it harder to manoeuvre in such a tight space, us being of average height and build.
When we eventually got through the group of people who seemed no longer separate entities but rather tightly packed together and could not be any closer, yet mentally couldn’t have been anymore distant from each other. I found Charlie sitting on a seat he had somehow found and leapt onto, though was finding it hard to stay on. The people next to him gave up their seats and moved as far away as possible from him, which was the recurring effect Charlie had on people.

This is really good, something I’d really want to read. I enjoy stories about rough and tumble people on drugs and I’m curious to know more about these characters. Anyway, this is pretty wordy without a lot of action, so my first thought is to edit down as much as you can. Also, try not to start with the word ‘I’ at the beginning. Something like, ‘The pigeons strutted around my feet,’ just sounds tighter IMO and I think 2 sentences would prevent that from running on so much.

By editing down, here’s an example of what I would do with one of your sentences:

‘As I sank deeper into my thoughts, I realized I’m not that different from those pigeons, desperately trying to get the whole loaf yet never quite reaching their goal.’

Pigeons don’t have hands It gets the point across without so many words. Just a few suggestions, but I really like these characters and it’s a terrific start.

Good luck!