It was raining. It always rained but it was more apparent from the smudged outlook of public transport than through the polished windscreen of his BMW Roadster. With his car temporarily off the road he could have summoned a cab, or even caught a Monorail, but he’d decided to catch the bus out of a sense of adventure that he now realised had been somewhat misguided. Glimpsing life as one of the common people was all very noble but the public transport experience had proved a deeply unpleasant one. Life here was as grey as the clouds that seemed to hang forever in the cold skies above their heads. This was not adventure. He longed for the warm, comfortable isolation of his car. The bus halted. He tutted to himself. It had only been a minute since it pulled away from the last stop. He heard the doors hiss open below and felt the rush of cold air rush beneath his seat. Fergus wiped the condensation from his window and peered down. There was a line of damp, dreary people waiting to board, their faces long and dull.
