The floor is a textural brown material spotted with age and old chewing gum. It is ridged in two places. Through the centre aisle runs parallel grooves and there is a hatched pattern under the seats.

The seats are covered in a brown and black check material that is stained in places. The pattern belies really how dirty it is. The seats feel grimy as if they have collected decades of pollution and traces of bodies. I don't feel uncomfortable sitting on the fabric covered seats not touching the railings but I am aware of the layers of human and mechanical residues, of the hundreds of people transported every day in this same space and the millions of fingerprints pressed into its fabric. [Not that I am paranoid about it, but] I will most definitely wash my hands when I reach my destination.

Graffiti tags are scratched into some windows with a knife or pen perhaps. Some are scribbled in black marker pen on the backs seats, some windows and the ceiling. I stare through the indiscernable signatures on the glass at the the city.

Small A4 landscape ads line the space between the windows and the ceiling of the upper deck. They promote special bus tickets, insurance offers and no-doze tablets.