There’s a bloke who wanders up and down the A57 between Sheffield and Swallownest. No matter what time I’m going to or from work, he’s always there. He doesn’t seem to mind which direction he goes in, sometimes has a seat on the metal barriers but always has his little shoulder bag on. Don’t know what his story is, one day I’ll stop and offer him a lift.
I was going to suggest Old Man Dave too but Pook beat me to it. He’s singing along to whatever’s coming in through his headphones. It’s a shame they’re not plugged in to anything.
And then there’s this:
I don’t know his name, and although this is in a club, that’s his normal daywear (and own hair)