1000 word story. Part one.

Tim Smith hopped off the crowded number 16 tram at stop 39 every day, and today was no exception. He walked to the shelter first, as it seemed like it was going to rain, and pulled out his headphones. It seemed he had no time to listen to The Clash, as he had to think about more important things. He would have to take his half an hour walk home quicker today, as he was sure, by the dramatic change in temperature, and the dark muggy clouds looming around in the atmosphere, that a storm was due. He slipped his iPod into his pocket, and took a step out of the shelter. Suddenly, a young teenager, wearing a black hoody, a black skirt and, even more surprisingly, black shoes, bumped into Tim, and his iPod slipped out of his pocket, and fell to the hard asphalt. He heard a crack, and before he picked it up, the teen ran away, shooting in front of the tram, obviously grinding the drivers gears, represented by the seemingly endless ding of the trams bell. He looked down at the iPod once more and picked it up. It was broken, no doubt about it. Stuffed. He groaned, and as the tram set off for the rest of its journey, Tim was left there to wonder at his luck. It couldn’t get much worse. Wrong. A drop of rain landed on his left shoulder, and that was his cue. He started running home.