Morning Stretches

A runner in fluorescent orange slapped two palms flat against the cold brickwork right beside my jawline, bracing himself to stretch out his calves. His breath puffed in sharp, misty bursts across my cheek. I slid my dark sunglasses down a fraction and cleared my throat into the crisp air. 'Watch the halo, mate,' I remarked quietly. 'Divine varnish is notoriously hard to scrub off your palms.' The lad jumped half a foot off the pavement, ripped out an earbud, and stared straight into my stencil eyes. Finding no one else in the alley, he muttered an apology to the wall and sprinted off twice as fast.