There is a flash of familiarity down here in the dark.
A split second where your eyes meet and then slide on by.
There is a hurried glance to take in all about the man:
The book clasped in his hand; the newspaper reflecting his mind.
Does a suit hang on his frame? Or the uniform of some other army?
He will go on the left, whilst I stand still on the right.
He will take two steps at a time, slipping on out of sight.