It seems like forever since I've taken the bus. It's a beautiful day and if I wasn't running late I would probably be walking. But it's not all that bad. I like how the tall glass buildings at Warren Street and Euston Station reflect the sun. Every now and then - with every lucky turn - it shines right through the bus just like the scanner light of a copy machine runs beneath the paper, exposing all the grains and fibres.
Next to me sits an old man who reads the paper. Although, his neck is so bent that I'm not sure if he's reading with care, or sleeping without any. Traffic stops the bus and I look outside. It's Denmark Street, somewhere between Tottenham Court Road and Leicester Square. A group of well-dressed business men is admiring an electric guitar in Rose Mary's window display.
One of them suddenly turns around and starts playing air guitar. He bends his knees and lets his arms do some magic. His peers start laughing, they seem to enjoy his performance. And indeed his impression is so good, I can almost see the plectrum between his fingers. I imagine someone would open the window and allow the sound of his guitar reach my ears. Unfortunately, that's when the bus moves on.
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