North Ferry

A woman, her jogging pants and t-shirt stretching, wrestled to pull a suitcase as tall as she was and heavier than she would ever be onto the dock. Two hands on the handle, feet anchored to the floor, she pulled. Finally, it gave. Her cab had not arrived.

One driving the ship. The entry had not been her best. She needed to fix the window; the wind was distracting. And three more, two young one not so young, exhausted, walking quickly toward a car that would take them to bed.

Boys.

Fathers let their children down from the rails. A man ran to catch a car as the door closed and the engine started. Boys on wheels of all varieties took off. Preparing to collect money from new passengers, one left the control room where that night there was wind. There were several boys going home on a night like this.

The cars were long gone, the inhabitants never having cared.

An older couple, of whom no one had previously been aware. As the rest filtered off methodically, they stayed. They held hand, held each other. They leaned up against the netting on the back of the ferry, gazing out into the night, smiling as the last light faded away and the darkness again engulfed them.