The station hums with the sound of the last chance home.
I search through my bag.
I search again.
Then it hits me
my wallet is at home, miles away.
The man stands there, next to the machine.
I am torn.
Should I ask? Should I not ask?
My chest tightens.
I feel the sweat gather.
I pace.
Then back again.
One minute.
Then two.
The train door opens.
I instantly regret it
watching his back disappear.
A stranger witnesses this
sees my face
distressed, almost stricken.
He offers help.
I genuinely thank him.
But I probably would have stayed there
rather than ask.