Boarding #1

I look at him, he looks at me. The driver sits there in his little throne, hiding behind a plastic screen with a cigarette hanging to his lip, un-lit and defying gravity as he moves his fleshy lips to talk to me. A single. Buttons beep as he types in my code for the journey. He has a tiger tattooed on his arm, it's faded after years of prowling, into smoky blue lines bordering a dull orange where once bright colours lay. The tattoo as tired and worn as it's owner moves with his arm as he hands me my ticket and takes the jangling coins I offer him.
The seats are illuminated in an unnaturally bright light and there are take-away boxes and their spilled contents on the floor. I take a seat. Facing the side window I can still see the people of the streets, winding and lurching about. I see the drunk as he slowly, jerkily arises to board the bus, my face stares back at me reflected in the window as I watch the mans slow progression to the doors.
He boards, the youths outside scream insults at him and he spins round firing back a garbled and half-hearted retort. Can in hand he approaches the driver, slams some coins into the tray and falls into the nearest seat resuming his penetrating glare into my side...