One arm hiked up the shoulder strap on his worn bag looking for that familiar and comfortable groove, and his other hand patted at the small book in his chest pocket. He headed out to the waiting bus stop and his first morning in Cardinal City. His chin was a little higher than when he had first disembarked from his levitating, aluminum coach car. He was going to be a hero. *** The guard watched the boy exit one of many double doors before sitting back down into his chair. He sank into the cushioned womb of memory foam and gazed at the light of dawn sneaking through the steets outside. The chair creaked under his weight. For the first time he could recall in years, he inexplicably hoped he did not see this young man pass by him again in a few days with his head slung low and shoulders drooping under the weight of his bag. He'd seen it before – that dull look of disappointment from a sidewise glance – once hopeful youths boarding the trains home. Eyes that beg not to be addressed with kind words or condolences but to be ignored and forgotten. But that one just might make it, he thought to himself. He stopped the nonsensical tangent after a moment of boyish grinning. He chuckled and shook his head. He wasn't sure what had gotten into him. None of them make it anymore, he reminded himself. He took another sip of coffee to sober his mind, but the old guard's smile did not fade. The boy's own had infected him; and, his old bones hurt less, and his day felt a little brighter. He would have to remember to return it to the young man when he saw him pass back through the station.
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