Swagger

I'm seated right behind the rear door on the bus, against the window.

My stereotypes kick in as soon as I see him swagger onto the bus; he's in his mid 20s, white, with an angry aura and an angrier goatee. Tall and thin, he's dressed all in black with his hoody up, and as he gets closer to where I am I can smell the reek of cigarettes on him. A large backpack hangs loosely off his back.

He stops right in front of the back door, and is completely oblivious to everybody around him trying to exit through it at the next stop; both his bulk and his intimidating aura present a barrier to those trying to get around him. Eventually they get by.

A few stops later, he reaches directly in front of me to pull the stop cord hanging by my window. But his angle is all wrong, and he can't get the right leverage to activate the ding so he gives up.

I reach up and pull the cord for him.

He meets my eyes, smiles, and says, "Thanks." Suddenly his dark cloud seems to have diminished a bit.

There's his stop.