One: Man in Olive-green Jumper Eats a Sandwich

The living room of our second-year house offers a far more suitable environment for people watching than the small-windowed flats of University Hall. A large bay window looks out onto the street below us and two armchairs are nestled in its curve. Sun pools on the carpet and my flatmates and I enjoy moments of an afternoon sipping tea, amusing ourselves by observing the peculiar characters that populate our street. 

Over the last couple of weeks sitting in the living room and gazing bleary eyed through the dust-coated, mould-fringed bay windows, a man’s frequent appearances on a low wall opposite our house have caught my attention. Three times I have watched him plod up to this favourite spot of his, settle himself down onto the stone and take a small, greasy parcel from his backpack. So far, the parcel has turned out always to be a sandwich, the contents of which seems never to remain between the two half buns but instead tends to ooze out into the wrapper or onto the floor with every bite – a sign of a good sandwich. 

illustration by Maia Hooper

The man wears an olive-green fleece, with a half-way zip and pointed collar. The fabric has bobbled and matted over the years. His expression is calm and not overly emotive, but his face is textured with small wrinkles, stubble and a wispy head of hair greying to the shade of an English morning sky.  

He is never in a rush to finish his sandwich, chomping on it leisurely mouthful by mouthful as he sits slightly slumped on the wall. Once he has finished, he scrunches up the paper wrapper in a warm fist, slowly rises from his seat, then slings his backpack over one shoulder and trudges away. 

 I feel very distant from the man in the olive-green jumper. He has lived much longer than me and he wears the worries of adult life on his face. Perhaps that is why a moment to himself without stress or rush and simply the enjoyment of sandwich is so important. We share a hobby in the simple art of observation. It is something that can be done whilst a sandwich is munched or a cup of tea is sipped, and it occurs in the few brief moments when I sit at the window and observe him while he sits on the wall and observes all the other curious characters.