I saw a boy walking towards me carrying two instruments slung over his left lurched shoulder, one clearly a guitar case and the other may have been a ukulele, perhaps a mandolin in disguise. He held limply on to a wireless amp hanging by his right side and wore all black; a sixth form suit, damp hair, pale emo skin with a disenfranchised smirk. Two parts apathy three parts attitude. What made me swoon pathetically at this kid who padded past me was the green-top milk riding in his pocket, just on show enough to flirt with the imagination of us city commuters that suburbia is romantic. I wanted a teenager again.