May 31, 2014
Leaning over, I fish in my pocket for the nickel. I can feel one in the bottom, but I can’t quite reach it. I have to stand up, pulling myself up against the empty seat in front of me. I stand there, bracing myself against the rocking of the train, one hand moving in my pocket as the boy watches me. I give him the nickel. “Thanks mister!” He runs out of the car on legs that seem to be too short, on heavy leather shoes that seem to sink into the wooden floor of the car as he runs.