The Warm Grille

A steady stream of warm air hummed up from a narrow brass floor grille near the concourse glass wall. Beside the skirting board lay a discarded paper transit slip and a flat plastic tag ring. I tore off a small square of the paper with both hands and held it flat over the slotted metal bars. The upward draft caught the slip immediately, lifting it two inches before letting it hover and spin gently on the warm current. Once it fluttered down against the rim, I sat down beside it on the smooth brass border. The heated metal warmed the soles of my boots, solid and comfortable.