light that fades wool

i like to ride the slow autobus, when i need to think and if i'm not running too late.
i got on this morning, we started to roll and
a character tapped the tin of the back of the vehicle.
he got on and hopped in the seat welded to the hump about the wheel,
his reflections motions of the movement
i watched him as he talked with his hands,
his peach shirt like the fruits they have been picking as of late, its the season
his face aged and tan, the sunlight through the stale curtains warmed the back of my neck,
i could feel the colour coming up
the light made a window pane pattern on his trousers and
i noticed there was a hole burned through by a cigarette
i could see him, hand talking wildly and the accident happening and
him having a wild laugh about it
he wore them so proudly, you could tell they had ages on them
he shouted up to the driver his desired destination
and nearly catapulted himself out of his welded seat and
hung to the hand rails like a monkey on jungle limbs
when the autobus paused, i didn't see him make his exit
my view somehow was obstructed, by what i don't remember
but we started again and i heard the tap on the tin,
maybe he didn't want us to forget him and i won't