ParadigmAs the wheels of the train clacked across the track, propelling it through the rolling hills and seemingly endless plain, the conductor moved through the carriages on his minimum wage. Sometimes having to prompt passengers to hold up their tickets, most often not, he stands staring at the seated figure, alone in an entire carriage but for himself now, hands behind his back. Issuing forth from the cloth-wrapped and dirty man is a low mumbling as if musing over the facts of life and how they need not apply to him. He doesn't need to show his ticket.Paradigm
I looked to the conductor, clandestinely, he didn't seem to notice me. Strange I t
Cobweb
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