A bloke sits on the long seat, 20-something, facing the door but looking down at his phone. Both hands are clutching it. Chin dropped, jaw to neck in a long, deep seam. A black thing clings to his ear and snakes inside.
Sunlight in the window. Golden stubble on his cheek. Blonde eyebrows.
Curls barely ripple the back and sides of his head with brown, but across the top a blondestorm rages with all of nature's power, waves that tower and tumble, leap into the sky and rain down chaos in the depths.
A bright green backpack nestles between his feet.
He wears black cargo pants and a white, illustrated t-shirt. His nose is straight. His bottom lip sticks out a bit. The insets on his trainers look like suede. Not blue. Brown-olive.
Now the back of a fist supports his temple, elbow propped on the padding at his side. He lifts the hand away and looks up at the destination screen, face falling as his worst fears are confirmed.
Bag on shoulder, he leaves the bus and climbs two steps at a time to the footbridge.