The minute he was out of the tube, he lit up, inhaling angrily, sucking the nicotine with a furious desperation. I walked towards him, one hand grasping a metro, the other searching for my oyster card in the depths of my handbag. He looked through me, just another face in the crowd. I kept staring though, his eyes bulged unhealthily, the whites flecked with blood. For a second I had an image of them popping out, cartoon style, but it passed as he brushed past me, barging his way down Tottenham Court Road.