A man walks down the road wearing a pair of khaki trousers and army boots.
It's a misty day and his camouflage clothing is very effective: I nearly ran him over before I saw him, thumb stuck out hoping to hitch a lift.
Having almost killed him, I decided giving him a ride was the least I could do.
He got in, said thanks and lit up a cigarette.
He wound the window down and everything about him, the way he kept flicking his hair out of his eyes, the fast puffing on the cigarette spoke agitation.
A cheap ear-ring dangled from his ear.
'So where're you heading?'
'Anywhere will do.'
The mist was a white wall and it was hard going, the handbrake like a pistol between us on the ghostly road to anywhere.