Light drips from the streetlamp above him, the wind is bitter, he tightens his jacket but he’s still fucking cold. The rain in the air stings his lips, nose, eyes, and cheeks. His hair is damp but still in shape (thank God). The urge to check his watch flares up but he knows it’s been minutes since the last time and he doesn’t want to expose the watch to the rain more than absolutely necessary so he moves his mind on instead. The phone in his pocket vibrates, a text, “Sorry 5 minutes, tube was fucked”, he replaces it and withdraws a cigarette. It’s a struggle to get one out of the tight cardboard sleeve with his wet fingertips but he manages, curling his hand around the lighter and taking a drag, if she’s not here by the time I’ve finished smoking I’m leaving, he thinks.
He’s sure that the couples inside are staring at him and he is happy to give them something to talk about. He adjusts his stance to exaggerate his lean on the streetlamp, heighten the drama, but when he steals a glance behind nobody’s looking.
A drop crashes down onto the cigarette and extinguishes it. It’s useless trying to relight it so he throws it on the floor. He checks his watch. 2 minutes. It’s not worth lighting another.
A car drives past and there’s a blast of pop music and then