The little boy didn't notice the red crayon he had dropped under the seat when his mother hurried him off the train, so I picked it up and drew a picture of a carnation on the back of an election flyer. I went over it three times and the petals flaked like old lipstick.
I glanced at her, sitting opposite and reading a second-hand newspaper. She looked up.
I held up the flyer, hoping she would recognise the ruffled petals, the tarragon-leaves.