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My Ticket A lost man with an old ticket stub tries to find his way home. “Excuse me,” he said, ancient face sad and lost. “I have my ticket.” He held out a piece of worn, yellow cardboard, cut inward in curves at the corners. For the sake of pleasantries, I took the ticket and examined it. Barely glancing at the text printed in faded red, I said, “Sir, this ticket is invalid. Modern day tickets are stored on a refillable card.” I handed the stub back to him, which had to be a few decades old, at least. I didn’t know what he was doing with a ticket as old as that, and what he thought he could do with it. “Oh,” said the man. He lowered the ticket but didn’t leave. I picked up the guide book I’d been reading but studied it more intently to make it look as if it were part of my work. “But it is valid…” “Sir, all our current tickets are digital. I’m sorry.” I blocked him out with my book once again, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach...
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