He’s tiny, scrambling all over the yellow and orange seats babbling back at his parents who watch in fond, mildly exasperated concern. He stands up and totters back and forth, his slight weight barely enough to counteract the swaying and shaking of the train. He can’t sit still his blue, orange, and black sneakers dangling half a foot off the ground. His jacket is a dark grey and the hood is pulled up over his head, the lining a bright red. Every time he escapes he looks so mischievously pleased with himself, his small dark eyes alight with the thrill of running and being chased.

He makes a break for the other end of the train and his mother’s sharp voice freezes him in place. He turns and looks, then continues on, tipping around the pole, his mother close behind.