On returning from conversing with Ted in the buffet car, everything lurched. The train, that is. Ted may have a nervous tic under his eye but once loaded with drink, he’s incapable of walking, much less lurching.
Unfortunately my ‘espresso-to-go’ slopped, decorating Peter’s seat. Through his fortunate absence, Peter was uninjured.
Returning from the ‘carriage of dubious pleasures’ he was treated to a rare sight.
Kneeling in the walkway, dabbing ineffectually at the hot stain with a soggy paper napkin, I froze when I heard the question: “What’s a lost little thing like you doing in economy class, Your Highness?”