The Legitimate Ticket

“Tickets, please.” he said, reaching out.

A brief moment of dread, followed by a flash of panic, rushed over me.
I fumbled around in my coat pocket -- empty.

“It must be in my wallet,” I said, smiling nervously.

I thumbed my way through the various compartments and leathery folds until I found it tucked behind my library card and handed it over as casually as I could muster.

As always, he stared at it for what seemed like an age, with an expression of intense bafflement that almost suggested this was the first time he'd ever seen a train ticket. Finally, he nodded in approval and handed it back to me before moving on.

“Tickets, please… Tickets, please… Tickets, please.”

I’d gotten away with it again, somehow.