the guy waiting at the train station who looks not much older than me, who is wearing an army uniform. hands are in his pockets, eyes are looking at his feet, back hunched. black dugglebag sitting by him, a copy of Nuts magazine tentatively waiting on top of his luggage.
the kid on the train, that sat quiet the whole entire journey apart from the time he looked up and said 'mummy, where is the driver?' right after the overhead announcer informed everyone that Coventry was the next approaching stop.
all the people hurrying past me, pushing me, bumping their bags into me because they're in a hurry to get nowhere important. most likely.
the guy walking in front of me, occupying the whole entire sidewalk, blowing his cigarette smoke and ash in my face because the natural drop of his hand is at the same level as my head.
people watching, thinking, is this guy too tall or am I too short. or is it a combination of both. or is it that it just so happened that a really tall guy, and a really short girl are walking along Chester street, both trying to get home, and get out of the cold harsh wind.
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