On habitual sightings

Most mornings I see a man on the Jubilee line. He's tall, lean, early 40s, and always well dressed but in colours that are never one or another, greyish-blue, blueish-grey, beigish-brown, brownish-grey. He carries a half-drunk litre of milk and a tiny bible at which he squints. At Baker Street and Bond Street stations he stands in the doorway. When the train stops and door opens he steps out, waits for the trainlight to go green then steps back into the closing doors and continues reading while carrying his litre of milk. No one looks, but everyone notices him.