"People sketching"

I glance around the crowded carriage in an attempt to pick my first victim. There's the lady with the large Louis Vuitton bag in front of me, make up and nails immaculate plugged into her iPhone whilst simultaneously tapping away at it. There's the lady right next to her- tight pencil skirt reading the metro with her hands dressed in pink leather gloves. For now, I can only define them by their objects, the key pieces they carry or wear that sets them apart from this suited up crowd.

My eyes fall upon man just across from me. His business attire would not warrant a second glance, indeed he blends in with everyone else. Black tailored suit, white shirt, pink tie and polished leather shoes. He reads the Times, again standard for this working class, flicking between the pages and pausing every so often to read an article of interest. He hasn't any defining features, one could quickly pass him by unknowingly in a crowd but something brings him to my attention nevertheless. He has the air of being good looking in his younger days but the signs of the years passing are evident in the faint lines on his forehead. He's so absorbed in his paper, in his own world that he doesn't even glance up to have a nose around every so often. He doesn't even notice the train pull into the final station and when he does look up his forehead wrinkles up and the lines deepen. As the mass of people rush off the train, he takes the time to dress himself, to slowly put on his coat and reach for his bag on the overhead shelf. He is the last in the carriage, still on the train as I finally get off, as if this morning ritual, this five minute ritual helps to prepare him for the day ahead.

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