Yellow.
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Mary checked her watch for a third time, the tiny crystal face slightly obscuring the numbers in the sun. The beam sent a rainbowed streak across her upturned, slightly protruding nose. The time if she could have read it was 6:15 pm. She could hear passengers milling in the station around her, the chugging of locomotives coming and going, the bark of conductors signaling last call. The usually exciting mill of travel life. She looked at her watch again, 6:16…maybe he was late. The Baltimore line certainly wasn’t what it used to be. She quietly reassured herself. “Late is not left.” She knew it was true surely she could remember a time when he had been late before. It was just becoming increasingly harder to focus on befores.
