There was a man on the bus the other morning – white hair, white eyes, pale, translucent skin.
No dark glasses.
He was wearing a dark suit, not black, but dark and kept glancing into his brief case. Once, he reached in, then withdrew his hand, grasping nothing.
His eyes seemed unstable, unused to the light, unused to being uncovered. They wavered about, unsure of what they were taking in.
Two stops before mine, he got off, standing beside me, gripping the hand rail with an intensity that seemed to pulse through him and into the metal frame of the bus.
I saw his blue veins running beneath his pale clear skin, his hand directly beside my head.
It has begun.
They are amongst us now, the day walkers.