Bus of anticipation

The hour approached nightfall, the fat old sun began to descend on the cloud-scattered horizon. Arms deep in pockets and shoulders down, Walter stood waiting for the bus, his lips curled and clenched inwards from the gnawing cold. People of various origins gathered in the proximity of the plastic waiting bench, their steamy breaths creating a horrible fog of association. Beside him stood a burly man wrapped in bundles of warm clothing, his hands laden with shopping bags. For every moment that Walter would look away, this man would eye him from head to toe, and taste his own mouth in doing so; as thought a snake would, sizing it's prey. Walter picked up on this, yet would nervously avoid eye contact to make it appear as though nothing peculiar was happening. Letting out a cough for attention, the burly man gave Walter a sheepish grin in the second of eye contact they had, turning his toes to stone, constraining his movement in the moment of awkwardness. When finally, Walter was graced with the deep hum of the approaching bus. Pushing his way to the front of the crowd, Walter clenched his bus pass with white fingers, preparing to jump on. Crawling fast, the bus came to a screeching halt, mushing a roadside puddle that dimly reflected a street lamp, into a fine spray; drenching an unsuspecting victim. Taking no notice of the sudden sobs and gasps behind him, Walter stepped onto the blue-grip bus step, flashed his pass, and walked to the back with his head down.