The No.243 double-decker bus travels up Kingsland Road. A tall, young man with bad breath sits in front of me, not a single grey hair on his auburn head. There is, however, a piece of fluff caught where his hairline meets his neck.
He wipes his fogged-up window with his coat’s sleeve and stares at wintry East London. I’m tempted to take a picture of his pensive and beautiful profile as it’s illuminated by red traffic light.
He gets up to leave in Dalston. He slings his small leather backpack casually over one shoulder and descends without looking at anyone.
