Smoke without ire

On the day: 
16/07/2012 

On the way: 
Is that a duck call? 
The guy is all in black, from the buttons on his plastic jacket to the laces in his chunky leather shoes (except for the logo on his black satchel). Even the implement between his pouty pink lips is black, with some silver bands.
If its a duck call, its not a particularly effective one. Or its user is not a master of his craft. 
And besides, most ducks of whose acquaintance I have had the pleasure, have had the good sense to avoid bus stops during rush hour. 
But it's not a duck call, is it? Not unless ducks have learned to read smoke signals. Because puffs of smoke are leaking out of the corners of the dude's, let's face it, duck pout. 
It's not deeply pungent, not pipe tobacco, not weed. Some sort of cigarette substitute, then? Whatever, it evidently does the job, as he let's loose another cloud of satisfaction. 
And when the bus arrives, does it fall to the ground to be stamped out and abandoned for someone else to deal with (the Surgeon General has determined that smoking patently degrades the brain cells in even otherwise intelligent and considerate human beings)? 
No sir. No indeed it does not fall to the ground. It disappears, perhaps into that little pouch that has materialised in his left hand - black of course. And onto the bus he steps. 
A stub-free smoker. That's a small step towards sensible.
Still not as sensible as your average duck, nor as considerate, but indubitably a waddle in the right direction.

On the pod: 
Marblehead Johnson - The Bluetones 

On the front page: 
London booms to 8 million people (London Evening Standard)