'Stop whining.'

I wrapped my arms around myself, tightly. Tried to keep the warmth inside and the cold wind out, of my wintercoat. It was a grey day. Colder than it's supposed to be during springtime.
He was sitting next to me, a distance of about 1,5 meter lied between us. I bet that if he had moved a little closer I would have smelled him.
I stared at him. His socks were half way up to his knees, his short was pale, so was his t-shirt. His grey hair, or atleast what was left of it, moved in the wind. A sigaret was hanging on his lips.
Suddenly he stood up. He started crossing the road. His legs swayed from side to side. He mumbled, to no one in particular it seems.
He did not look me in the eyes but kept staring at nothing in particular.But he had spoken to me.
'I'm cold.'. That's something I say often. Because I'm cold easily, I'm cold often.

But what he said shut me up, changed me. I gave it a second thought, staring at nothing in particular, the same way he had done.

He stepped into a bus. I looked at him. He sat down, kept shaking his head. It seemed as if he started a conversation with the busdriver.

I shivered and pulled my collar up.
Like I said, it was a cold day, colder than it's supposed to be during springtime. I'm cold often, but this time was different.
His words echoed in my head:'Stop whining', is what he said.