On Saturday afternoon a man sits in the bus shelter at Wynyard, waiting for the B1. He wears a blue suit and brown, polished shoes, and has one leg crossed over the other. Beside him stands a suitcase on wheels with its handle extended. The man types on his phone. He brings a hand to his face. Out of nowhere, his suitcase makes a break for it. His hand snaps out like a bolt of lightning and pulls the suitcase back in line. He types on his phone.