Man wearing a strange outfit of combat trousers, cheap steel toecapped boots, not-in-fashion t shirt, carrying a black bin bag, at my town bus stop “Do you know if there’s a bus due to xxxxx aka some suburb of some town in the north of England? I’ve been waiting here ages.” He looked a bit like when wizards wear muggle clothes and get it a bit wrong.
Me “It’s due in about two minutes.”
Man. “Everything’s changed round here. I’ve just come out of the big house. They don’t even sell baccy in twelve-and-a-half-gramme packs any more.”
Me. “I know. I sometimes used to buy some for that homeless guy outside Tescos. You didn’t have any fivers and tenners stashed away did you before you went in? And pound coins? They’ve all changed.”
He chuckles.
“Did you do much reading in there then?” I enquire.
Man. “I did actually. And cos I don’t smoke weed my tests came back negative so I could get on a cooking course. I’ve got an NVQ.”
Me. “That’s good. Got any work lined up?”
Man. “Nah. I’m kind of unemployable. I’m just gonna spend time with my kids.”
Someone sticks their hand out for the bus.
“Well. Good luck to you mate.” I say.
“Thanks.” He replies and I put my earbuds back in and sit next to an old lady on the bus.
a rambling collective 
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