...There's something about the stark lighting on the bus that makes you feel as though you shouldn't be there, or you're under scrutiny. It's a strange feeling when you get on and you actually find yourself looking for the people who you know get on there regularly, and if they don't you wonder why. You learn peoples patterns and routines and they begin to know yours.
It's Sunday today so there will probably be the old man who lives in the flats just outside the town centre, the one with the blind eye and the curiously agile step for someone so old and outwardly frail. He walks and jumps onto the bus as though all the years he's been tramping these streets haven't slowed his legs at all even though they're remembered in the lines etched onto his leathery face.