Peter laughed. It sounded strange—rusty, like a gate swinging open for the first time in years.
There was a long pause. “Who is this?” rail season ticket prices
“Ticket’s gone up again,” Peter said, not looking up. “Another four hundred quid.” Peter laughed
The season ticket expired on a Tuesday. Peter kept the orange paper slip from Coulsdon in his wallet. It wasn’t a pass to anywhere. It was proof that sometimes, the cheapest fare is the one that lets you get off. Peter laughed. It sounded strange—rusty
Peter slid a five-pound note under the glass. “That one.”
He boarded the 8:12 instead. Slower train. More stops. No reserved seat. But the window was clean.