He has his eyes closed behind his aviators, nodding his head in time to the tinny beat she can just make out. His tan pants are tight and molded to his legs, his ankles crossed and feet tucked under the seat a little. There’s a small, raised white scar on his left thumb. The veins stand out on the back of his hand and the muscle going up to his thumb flexes. IPhone without a case. Blue collared shirt under a black jacket, he’s moving almost his entire upper body in time with the beat.

Short brown hair – gelled, brown eyes. He search to see if anyone needs his seat more than him, makes an offer to an older woman. She declines. Long brown eyelashes fluttering closed. Slightly receding hairline. Chin-strap beard, closely trimmed mustache included. He crosses his legs, brown leather flats come into view with bright peachy-pink socks with teal and dark blue dots. The backs of his pants are exceedingly wrinkled behind the knees. He stands up near the door, one knee locked, hip jutted out, the other leg slightly forwards, knee bent.