The figure stood silently as noise washed over him. Car horns blared; men and women chattered; children shrieked-in pleasure and in pain. He stood still as the bus pitched through the usual traffic; he could easily have completed his journey in half the time by moving on his own, but he liked public transport; it made him feel mundane-and he relished that feeling. He couldn't help feeding, and he liked his powers, but because of what he was, he rarely got to be human; he was always thinking five steps ahead of ten steps in advance. But here, surrounded on all sides by humans, pressed almost into a pole, he felt almost normal. He would have felt reminded of his own life, but automobiles were an invention far in the future at that time; the wheel was just coming into being; he remembered how it had been received and smiled-people hadn't changed at all- but no, this was not the time to think about his life, now was not the time to remember the millennia he had seen, now was the time to be part of this one. He believed in becoming one with the times he lived in; he didn't want his existence to feel any more unnatural than it absolutely had to. If he acted in a way a 21st century man would, then he would feel as close to one as he could. He breathed to cement the feeling. The scent of the bus pervaded his senses almost overwhelmingly; he sensed the perspiration and the perfume, the caked makeup and caked dirt; his increased sensitivity meant no scent was missed; he experienced everyone-and everything-that had been on the bus ever. He sighed and let himself lose himself.

Outside

It was a cold night; everyone who could be, was inside. Buses and cars filled the streets. On one packed bus, there stood a man. He was well over six feet tall with piercing blue eyes thickly lined in black. His hair was fairly long, his lip and nose pierced. He stood still, a peaceful smile on his face; unlike most people, he actually looked like he was enjoying himself. If one was a particularly keen observer, one would have seen that his eyes told a million stories for a millisecond before he blinked and they shone with secrets; he looked like a person who either had a million stories or wished to. His lips curved in what wasn't quite a smile but wasn't nothing either. He seemed to breathe subtly; he seemed almost wispy, almost ghostlike. The bus rumbled over potholes, yet he stood still; the bus passes over smooth road, yet he swayed. His movements were neither accidental nor deliberate. Enigma and mystery rolled over him but he blended into the crowd until he was imperceptible.