A Brexit anecdote

I took the Tube in London last Friday. The train was quite full and when it pulled in at Embankment there was a guy sitting at the platform. In his fifties -ish, short grey hair. He didn't try to get on, just looked at us gloomily. "It's the foreigner bullet, innit?" he said. Then louder: "It's the Bosnia bullet!" The carriage was indeed full of people from around the world, this being London, and nobody was quick enough to reply, e.g., "Say it to our faces if you're going to talk about us," before the train was moving again; there was a moment of awkwardness. I glanced out. There he sat – glum, grey, resentful – as the bullet sped past.