The sole of my shoe has split open.
There’s a guy leaning against the bus stop, speaking loudly on the phone. I like the way he holds himself in the conversation: as if the person on the other end has just said the single most interesting thing he’s ever heard; as if he’s in the room with them right now, and it’s not 6 a.m, and he’s not on a street corner in Lewisham, in the rain.
He smiles at the empty space behind my head.