MILE END - EMBANKMENT

Black male, 35-50 years, he has whiskers greying at the tips and soft yellow eyes. He doesn't look at me once throughout the journey. His shoes are scuffed on just one toe. He is carrying a fleece jacket in apparent defiance of the weather forecast. A black rucksack is parked between his feet. I realise that I cannot generalise about him, can't imagine his life situation. I have no idea where he's going. He's neutral, in a sense, like me. Unguessable. He seems self-contained, untroubled. He tries to snooze but can't.


EMBANKMENT - SOUTH KENSINGTON

White male, 50-65 years, a giant balding man whose presence in enforced not just by his size but also by a puissance of personality, a radiant paranoia which surrounds him. The previous opposite person didn't even notice me but this guy's obsessed, staring at me repeatedly, sizing me up. He is expensively dressed, his loafers are a mystery, grey suede at the sides and black on the tongue. His socks are silk and his trousers (woollen, with turn-ups) are tapered to suit his irregular frame. He looks like he should be haranguing Arabs at the UN, or undermining World Leaders at the G8. He keeps staring at me, the bald fuck. I reckon I could take him, I'm younger and quicker, and I have a lot less to lose.