They stood by thin railings looking at the streets. The downturned meringue peaks of the bus station awning, the glass underground entrance and panoramic Westfield steps, the six-times-removed hum of the crowd. There were three, of course. Two girls, one boy. It took a moment before he clocked that he knew them. Not well, not to talk with, just from around. Live anywhere your whole life and you’re bound to see the same faces, Groundhog Day for real, only less dramatic, more tedious. Crossing the street to the corner shop, standing in line for Maccy D’s, sitting rows from each other on the bus. Only one he’d ever wished he could talk to, or thought about longer than the time it took to walk by. But he knew all three as surely as the silent boasts of tags on street signs, or missing digital letters on the countdown. They all belonged to the bits, were all home.

The tall kid wore a school blazer, was lanky and broad with a face like a pinched raisin, the lopsided mini-Afro of a younger. The ’fro looked like a disabled black dorsal fin, making his screw face infantile; a man’s aggression beneath a toddler’s hairstyle. Aaron stifled a laugh. The girl was short and BRIT-Award thin, a few years older than himself, blonde hair tied back, falling to her waist, brown leather jacket with bare zips, sensible shirt, trousers and flat shoes, the dark rings of a part-time weed smoker around her eyes. He’d seen her going in and out of the dentist’s opposite his GP surgery for long enough to assume she worked there. She was hard-faced and gaunt, smoking a withering fag, looking more like thirty than the early twenties she really was.

The other girl was a manifestation of dreams. Tall as Aaron, tight storm-cloud jeans betraying a curve of hips, snug roll-necked grey top tucked in at the beltless waist, as gorgeous above as below. Aaron saved the best for last, after he’d taken in the rest – deep brown skin, unblinking eyes, lips maintaining a perpetual pout. The slim denim jacket, blue LDN fitted and rare matching Nikes that told the world she was not only down, but prided herself on originality. Normally the type he sneered at inside his head, knowing he felt unworthy, except she was here and that made her different from the others, a woman of substance rather than image.

All three lived within a square mile and passed each other randomly at least once a week, possibly more.