Two Old Men on the Bus

I ran to catch the bus with a suitcase, scraping it on the automatic doors as they swung shut on me. The bus driver looked non-plussed.

An old man is sat by the window in the priority seat, looking out. Heavy-set in a khaki utility jacket, with a fake Royal Air Force patch sewn on to the arm. Headphones in, thick optical glasses, hairy jowls and a drooping face, like a walrus.

The bus pulls in.

A new old man boards the bus. He looks like a thumb, the end of a starfish. Wide smile and making conversation with the driver, unsuccessfully. He sits by the walrus, who takes no notice of him. This new old man’s face is round and soft from all the dopey warmth he emits. He wears a flat-cap, which he doffs and places on his lap.

‘Is warm today.’

‘What?’ The jowly old man pulls out his earphones and glances at his neighbour.

‘It’s warm today.’ Gives him a big grin.

‘It’ll rain later on.’

‘The sun is shining.’

‘No, it’s cloudy.’

‘I can see the sun, shining, will get hot!’

‘No, it’s cold. It’ll rain later on.’

‘I can see the sun – ha ha.’

‘The sun’s over there trying to come out from behind them clouds.’

‘It is bright – ha ha… I’m joking. Is a joke.’ The walrus grunts and turns away, annoyed. ‘You have to laugh: life.’