Waiting on St. Pancras station last night, started to sketch this man reading his Evening Standard. He looked up at the information board, noticed me, instantly clocked what I was doing, gave me a look that would have shriveled lesser mortals in their bed socks, and walked away, hence the sketch didn't get any feet.
His overcoat was the most brilliant deep chocolate brown colour.
Not a particularly anything drawing, but he sealed his fate with his not wanting to be sketchedness.
I apologize to him here.