Oranges

I was just sitting on the number 19 going down Blackstock Road. It's Sunday, the bus is quite quiet. Someone rings the bell so the bus pulls over at the next bus stop. Then the driver gets out, blocking the rest of the bus from the front with the door. I think, oh damn he's waiting for the next driver this could take ages and I'm already late. 

But then the driver gets out, looking a bit nervous, as if he is doing something he shouldn't. He runs to the shop and picks up an orange, considers it, places it back and then picks up 5 other oranges. He places these 5 oranges in a plastic bag, looking around swiftly as if he were buying drugs- he pays the shopkeeper and runs back on the bus with the large bag of oranges, he avoids eye contact with the passengers, because to look at them would be to acknowledge what had just happened. He closes the door and starts the engine and I alight at Finsbury Park.