The twelve o'clock bus is showing me something.
A shapely droplet slides from the eye of the man in the Travel Pass poster. He is smiling for the advert but now I'm not so certain.
I follow the level of his stare to a window on the opposite side. The pane's become foggy but I can still look out from the right hand corner. A sign says Daisy Street.
I think maybe he kissed a Daisy once, this Travel Pass poster man. He's probably met this crossing a few times before. There's a faultless alignment between him and the sign.
It breaks and I finally lose interest. The bus turns the corner and the drip slips down to the tagline.
Mine is the next stop.