A view from my carriage window.
A girl running, long black hair streaming behind. Coffee in hand, she gasps at the top of the stairs, gathers herself and steps calmly aboard, relief on her face.
The couple scour the map, fingers tracing the intersecting lines. Animated whispers, shakes of the heads. The man straightens, a decision made, as one, they turn and head to the coffee shop.
He shivers, the cold wind nipping at his cheeks, turning them red. Pulling his grey cardigan close to his body, his gloved hands fumble with the buttons. Giving up, the boy wraps his arms around himself, hands tucked in tight.
She struts and waddles, impervious to the cold, pecking at scraps. Another flutters to her side but he finds no welcome. Feathers ruffle, the intruder flies away, this pigeon remains queen of her platform.