The mist clung to his clothing, but it wasn’t a problem unless he leant on something, and then he soaked. The main problem was his jeans. They were a little too long, and the water from the puddles soaked up, giving him wet ankles and a general shiver.
It was too late for the bus and he couldn’t remember the route. It was number 761, that’s all he knew. He’d intended to get the last bus home, but then that girl started talking to him and he thought he had a chance. She went home with her friends, but at least he got her number. He looked at the sign. Twenty-seven. He’d better get walking.