"Shh-" he stretches his hand, but to late, and the very moment the wind lets go of his glasses... they get crushed under the wheels of a large bus. "-it." Su puta madre. Not only had they been new, no, he had also needed them, and sorely, to hide the tired, sniffly state of his eyes.
He could have sworn the gust had ruffled his hair. Perhaps his brain was growing soft.