just passing through-

She looked too young to be riding on a streetcar alone. Sitting there at the window seat in her blue-green dress, her soft brown eyes watched as she, along with the rest of the passengers, were rushed on into the city, immense office buildings looming overhead.
 
It was obvious that she wasn’t accustomed to riding on public transit. Veteran passengers who needed to get off at the next one to five stops never sat down- especially not next to the window; the momentary rest wasn’t worth the hassle of getting up and shuffling past the stationary wall of bodies.
 
Her fingers loosely held onto the neck of a guitar, slightly larger in its thick, black case. One hand traveled over to the other and pulled at the sleeve of a light sweater, stretching it over her wrist. Pale brown hair and freckles stole years from her face; she couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen years old.
 
The streetcar screeched to a halt in front of a subway entrance, a set of stairs leading down into the concrete sidewalk. She stood up awkwardly and did her best to squeeze past the woman on her left, gently lifting her guitar behind her. Hanging down past her back was a bag that matched her dress, begging for wayward fingers to reach down and shuffle through her belongings.
 
The last one to step off she heard the hydraulic doors close behind her. Behind the subway entrance a skyscraper towered above the sidewalk and the single-minded individuals that hurried over it. The buildings hemmed in the streets and made you smaller.
 
Something in those soft brown eyes hardened, and she strode down the tiled steps, into the bowels of the city.
 
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He took the steps two at a time, just making it to the streetcar as the last passenger got off. He caught a flash of blue-green in his peripheral vision, and his mind wondered at the hue marching along past the grey, city streets. He turned his head, but the streetcar doors closed and the colour was gone.
 
Over half of the passengers had gotten off to take the subway, and he strode down the aisle to the rear to take a seat. Looking to the left and right sides of the streetcar he saw that every seat available had someone at the window. A little early in the day to be tired, he thought, noticing the expressions and, more often, the closed eyes.
 
He made a snap decision and sat down next to a black man on the left of the aisle, his body falling a little too swiftly into the seat as the streetcar lurched forward. The man grunted, moved closer to the window, and stared down at his watch. A streetcar was not a place for conversation, though for another boy who sat next to that same man that afternoon there would be a chance to hear a fascinating tale.

Staring straight ahead at the backs of people’s heads, he wondered idly about what the day would hold for him. He gazed from head to head as he thought, a balding spot already dealt with pre-emptively with the magic of the comb over, and garish red hair dye on the woman two seats in front. It was just another day of work, just a little money into his bank account, just a bit more purpose to the last remaining month before college.