The National Express Coach always stops at Dover.

I have always admired old people. I remember the hauntingly sentimental sight when i watched an old couple sharing a packet of mini-cheddars on a coach on a spring day. The old man held open the packet in the middle of them both and his cheek bones jerked the skin of his face up then down as he reduced the snack into a warm, cheesy pulp, skin wobbling; turkey neck. The sun shimmered om the old lady - closest to the window - and reflected in her glazed eyes and over the peaks of her troughed, wrinkled face. The couple seemed to share thier appreciation of the sun an dthe cheddars whilst remaining as tombstones to one another, just mastication and silence. Somehow, i had been caught in this transfusion of affection or rather, companionship because, i too loved them for wearing the hallmarks of death and showing them to the cheddars and sun and me. They bravely endure thier journey whilst i shrink from mine and the unbearable truths it reveals.