TLDR; read this, I guess
The man is Odin. He is a god of Æsir. he has drank from the well of wisdom, commanded from the throne of Asgard and assisted in the very creation of man. Now he is on the bus from the job centre.
Life, eternal may it be, is not going well for Odin. Starved on faith and in a world without magic, he is little more than an old man. His great ravens Hugin and Mugin are now city pigeons. His golden spear, Gungir is now in
the company of a tin wall hanger katana. And worst of all, Slephnir, his eight legged horse on witch he rode (quite literally) to hell and back is now a mutated Shetland pony belonging to a Russian circus.
Furthermore, without the gold halls of Valhalla for income. Odin was somewhat stuck for money. To his surprise, the local tradespeople no longer accept virgin daughters or cattle as currency, and there’s a lack of employment opportunities for those skilled in divine pantheon management.
Odin released a low rumbling sigh. the long, drawn out kind, built up over millennia like the shifting of tectonic plates as he watched the rain patter rhythmically on the window. At least he would be home soon, though he used the word sparingly. with Asgard gone he had rented out a council flat, and in a feeble attempt to make it more homely draped some gold foil over the furniture and crudely nailed a gold plaque embellished with 'Asgard' to his mailbox. Although he knew, it wasn't the same. It would never be the same.
EDIT: I changed a couple stuff, and found that, both beards are a really fun to write about and that I still have no idea how/ when to use punctuation (I blame being raised by a pack of dyslexics)