We glide. Tracks sing beneath us—rhythmic claws combing earth. The view is gone and found in breaths: orchard scents, the metallic tang of the river, a dog barking at an uncatchable horizon. I study fellow passengers the way I study birds: names imagined by fur, gait, and the careful crinkle at the corners of eyes. There is a pair who share a thermos like a single warm sun; a child who hums an unfinished tune; a woman whose pockets are lined with folded letters—paper mice.
I tail the crowd, carrying one small thing: a stub of a ticket with a smudge of ink that reads—if you tilt it just right—Meet. Stay. Go. My whiskers decide it means all three. Meet Train - Embarkation -v1.0.0- -Cat Language-
When Convergence nears, the carriage exhales anticipation. Passengers preen, straighten collars, fold maps into neat paper birds. I step down slowly, paws finding the scent-tiles of platform stone. The Meet Train inhales the last few breaths of city and exhales me into a new hum: voices braided, possibilities warm as sunlit fur. We glide
