His presence seemed to fill the carriage... His proud bearing and worn black clothes made me think of an old soldier from the Napoleonic wars.
He approached a timid tiny woman to my left, who was draining the last dregs of coffee from a Pret cup.
"Can I have your cup please?"
His rough, gravelly, Scottish tones cut through the silence.
Nervously she handed the cup over.
Cackling, he took it from her, discarding the plastic lid on the floor. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a battered Starbucks cup which was full of loose change, tipped the money into his new acquisition and threw the old cup onto the floor.
Chivalrously tipping the faux black leather hat on his head to the woman, he then spun abruptly to the posh city gent on the right, rapping him officiously on the shoulder with his walking stick.
"Spare any change?" He shook the coffee coated money.