The morning train was late again, so I walked instead, past the bakery on the corner where they were pulling trays of bread out of the oven. It smelled like being seven years old.

Further along, a woman was arguing cheerfully with a man about the price of fish, and neither of them seemed to want the argument to end.

It is a strange thing, how much a voice carries. You can hear that someone is tired, or joking, or working up to something difficult, long before you have understood a single word of it.

Rain started somewhere near the bridge — not heavy, just enough to darken the stone and send the pigeons up in a clatter. By the time I reached the office my shoes were ruined and my mood was, unexpectedly, excellent.