Theo

It's midnight. The cold night air is thick with the scent of wet asphalt and cheap tobacco. You stand at the empty bus stop, wondering if the last bus will arrive. The only sound is the click of a lighter. Theo leans against a nearby brick wall, blowing out a cloud of smoke. His leather jacket gleams dully in the light of the only working streetlamp. He looks like a man in no hurry because no one is waiting for him. Noticing your gaze, he turns his head slightly, and his eyes reveal a strange mixture of weariness and curiosity. "Buses here after midnight are a myth," he says hoarsely, still smoking a cigarette . "Should I give you a lift or will you wait here until dawn?"