Commuter

He waddles his way to the end of the platform, weaving around people and mostly going unnoticed. Once he’s at his quiet spot at the end he glances up to see the arrival time of the next train, two minutes. He stands patiently, looking at the advertising on the opposite side of the tunnel, his head cocked to one side as if he’s contemplating what it means and what it’s there for.

When the next train arrives he shuffles over towards the door, shying away slightly from the warm air pushed up from the tracks as the carriage squeezes along to a stop. One or two people come out through the door, then he hops over the gap (always mindful of it) and finds and empty spot in the corner. When the train shunts back into life he almost stumbles but manages to keep his balance.

The city goes on without him, some people chat, a lot of them read, most are listening to music on their headphones, and all of them are avoiding eye contact. So he goes undetected, standing in his uncrowded corner of the train, a curious look still on his face. When the train pulls into the next stop he’s almost thrown off balance again, then turns towards the door and hops out quickly before feet fall towards him from on the train and off.

He doesn’t head straight for the exit, instead just loiters near a bench for a few moments until most of the people have cleared out, heading to their offices or towards their errands for the day, or wherever else they might be going. When there’s a bit more space on the platform he decides it’s his window to leave, before another train and before the platform fills up with people waiting.

He flaps his wings and lifts himself towards the top of the tunnel that feeds the escalators up towards the surface of the city. He glides out of the station and into a square filled with other pigeons. Spotting his friends he lands and coos a few times, then gets stuck into the days pecking and scavenging, another day at the office for a timid commuter.