Riding the 5A bus home from Copenhagen central station today made me a little sad.
Buses are like that.
For whatever reason, you pick someone out of the crowd and they fill your thoughts for the next few minutes.
Today a guy got on and I saw straight away that he was a drunk.
He had the tell-tale glassy eyes, like smudged coins sinking in a glass of egg-white. His head bobbed slightly and he blinked just a bit too often.
His checked, padded shirt was frayed and dirt particles had made themselves at home under his nails.
He stood, silently swaying until his stop, and then got off.
The 5A continued along Norrebrogade. I don’t know where the drunk went.