A man in a baseball cap and a work jacket, broad through the shoulders, forty or so, laughed under his breath and looked at the other adults the way men look when they want a team. Greg. His son was pulling at a sleeve and being ignored.
“Yeah, go run around with the other kids.”
Denise Walker had her daughter’s hand, Maya, six, a pink coat. Denise was in her thirties, tired from the train and not unkind on other days. She patted Maya’s shoulder and gave the boy the dismissive smile adults save for ambitions that do not match the clothes.
“Kids your age should be playing, not chasing big dreams.”