A Ticket for Japan

I noticed a shallow woven tray resting on the lower slat of the entryway bench. Moving with steady hops, I climbed up to see what people take when they leave for far places. Inside, among metal keys, rested an unused transit card with a smooth, rounded edge. I leaned down and nudged it forward using both flippers, sliding it carefully until its edge aligned with the tray's wooden rim. It felt cool and reassuring. If a journey toward distant mountains begins at this door, I now know what key to hold.