On my way to work

A rocker in his 30s with long ginger hair in a pony tail, a Lucky Strike cap, the usual black T-shirt with an ordinary rebel rock band and a heavily used black leather jacket. Reading Pratchett. A book whose name starts with "Night" (Night Watch, Pratchett's best seller, I have just looked it up). A smart book read by a guy who still hasn't managed to get over his infantile rebel look.

An old lady with daffodils in her hand. Thin lips, severe expression. Yelling at her husband - kind look on his face - to hurry up while crossing the street. She wants to catch the tram. He's almost hit by the car. He goes back on the sidewalk. she doesn't even turn to look. she's waiting for him in front of the moving tram, making infuriating gestures at him because he's slow.

Another old lady - curly hair under a brown hat - thirstily smoking the second half of a cigarette, at the narrow entrance of the metro. She's very focused on what's she's doing, like a drug addict smoking his last joint, and although she's in everybody's way, she doesn't budge and inch.