Stepping off the tram, the streets were already bustling with activity. Dismounting passengers were immediately greeted by a jumbled assembly of civilians waiting to replace them. They shuffled their way through the outpour of passengers who fanned out from the car. I kept my basket close on hand, pressed up against my dress, head low, shoulders drawn in, as I navigated my way out of the crowd. Once I was in the clear, I briefly checked over my shoulder to make sure Jane was still in attendance.
“Quite a committee,” she remarked.
“A late hour, after all.” Looking to the sky, the sunshine of the countryside was replaced by the city smog, giving the street a timeless daytime demeanour. Buildings faded into the haze as they drew away from the eye. Like a foggy morning, sans the fresh atmosphere. Already, the reek of sewage made its way to my nostrils. With a prolonged exhale, I proceeded off the main street.
The markets were near the station, at just a turn of the avenue. Hardly any of the cobblestone could be seen under the parade of shoppers. Men in their jackets, plain waistcoats, their heads capped with their bowlers, hands buried in the pockets of their trousers, ambled the stalls. Women in their skirts, straw hats, dark blouses hidden under their jackets, followed their counterparts or in the company of their peers. Children strolled through the streets in packs, sometimes jostling each other; a sign it was indeed a weekend. A few horse carriages slowly swam up the river of shoppers; early bird merchants who were already disembarking for the day. As we began to browse the produce, Jane and I picked back up our conversation on the tram. She behaved as if not a moment had passed.
“You don’t suppose the city would fix up the rail?”
“Certainly not. The concern is all around the city centre.”
Jane scoffed. “They should know how many of us commute from the countryside.”
“Perhaps not. You forget these men never leave the city.”
“Well, they should be aware. They could solve the horrid congestion if every countryman didn’t need to pack onto the same two rails to cross over the channel.”
“I don’t disagree with you,” I said patiently. Stopping at one of the stalls, I picked through its basket of potatoes.
“Furthermore, once our rail breaks down, and it will, we’ll have no choice but to walk on foot, taking even more precious time out of our day. And all of us, walking across that narrow bridge, right into an intersection… Think of the congestion! And the accidents! From all the people ambling across the tracks. I’m sure they’ll wish they paid attention. There’ll be no end to…”
I lost her voice as I concentrated on what I was buying. They were all a bit soft, but they smelled all right. Perhaps I could use them for stew instead. I started to eye the seller’s wheat after picking through a few potatoes. Perhaps I should try baking my own biscuits this coming week. Behind the stand, the merchant turned to us after serving another customer. I looked up and smiled, only to notice his attention wasn’t on me.