A big, craggy old man waits on the B1 bench at Wynyard. He has white hair, a trim grey chin-beard and a huge gold wrist-watch. White shirt, beige slacks, leather shoes. He nurses a paper cup with a straw. From the bench beside him he lifts a McDonalds bag and scrunches it. Then he coughs. He leans precariously, and his chest convulses.