The Trolley

“Yes, you can get there from here. Just look for the trolley. Comes by here infrequently, but I’ve seen it in these parts.”

He shifted his weight from side to side, involuntarily bouncing his briefcase against his tan trench coat. “Trolley? With the bell and the tracks and all that?”

“Oh yes. When the tracks are fresh, you know it will be here soon. Just over there, near the marsh.”  The woman pushing the pram jutted her unopened umbrella across the street toward the empty field.

As he surveyed the wetlands, a murmuration of starlings weaved their way through the sky and down into the reeds and cattails. By the time he turned his attention back to the woman, she had disappeared. With a bit of a sigh, he crossed the cobblestone street and stepped gingerly into the muddy marsh and began searching for fresh trolley tracks.

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