The other week I strolled routinely to catch my bus to work. There's never a soul to be seen down there, but this time was different.
There was a 20 minute wait for a bus, and a guy there, an inspiring young man. We chatted for 20 minutes about trivial events, such as how many trees there were around this area. He shook my hand; Ian was his name. He had mousy brown hair down to his shoulders, a light denim jacket hanging from his scaffolding frame, very skinny jeans, and pumps with more holes than fabric. Quite an individual.
He had gone home with a girl; Rosie, and had no idea where he was, or how he even got here. I had to tell him he was in Horsforth, a large village about 15 minutes from the centre, and which bus he had to get on to get back home. Infact, he only knew where he had gone the night before from a large 'The Cockpit' stamp on his arm.
Its funny how waiting at a bus stop turned a stranger into a friend for 15 minutes only.
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