There is a man sat behind me on the train. He is talking to a woman on his phone. He is crying. Weeping. At times he can't speak because he is crying so much. I imagine he has snot running out of his nose. He gets off at Wateringbury and stands under the sign straight opposite my window. He has ginger hair and blue clothes and brown sandals and a black bag. My camera is out... but his hurt is his own and I leave him in solitude with it.
