I hopped on the 423 at Railway Square on Friday night but the driver wouldn't take my money. Apparently while I've been away the buses have become cash-free. I was cross and hungry and not about to get off the bus I'd waited ages for so I muttered "Whatever" and headed up the back, dropping my coins into my bag. The driver didn't say anything, he didn't care. After stretching my armpits swinging around on the hand-holds all along King St I finally got a seat.

Near me were two young men, drunk as -- they couldn't really talk but they could still walk. They were twins, identical, with the same profile: a slightly bumped nose and soft lips. Nice looking, young. They were communicating almost silently, only muttering things to each other occasionally and laughing and gesturing in that funny pissed unco' way. They wore matching blue-green beanies and milk-chocolate coloured tee-shirts, but one had jeans and thongs while his brother had grey trackies and sneakers. The one in jeans sat next to me and his head lolled onto my shoulder. He jerked up and laughed, blue-grey eyes open wide, and I smiled at him.

Then, at Enmore Park, the inspector got on. "Tickets please everyone." Oh shit & buggery I had no ticket. But the inspector ignored me and focused on the drunk brothers. They swayed, they staggered, they groped around in their pockets, they mumbled to each other, and eventually the inspector took them off the bus. But in seconds they'd leapt back on, grinning, waving their found tickets triumphantly. I felt like cheering. They sat far enough away that I could take their photo, and they got off at the corner of Victoria and Marrickville Roads near the cheesecake shop.