Scenes from a tram stop

There's a prize for anyone who can guess the tramstop. Leave your guesses in the comments or on my facebook page. 

His fly wide open and the back of his trousers ripped, the man looked like a tramp, but he wasn’t, he just didn’t have the energy to take care of himself anymore. He let his tram go by, there’d be another one along in a few minutes and, on balmy afternoons like this one it was better to stand and watch the world go by that sit and watch the same four walls he’d been staring at for the best and worst part of 40 years. He couldn’t stand and wait too long though, or little Betsy would be annoying the neighbours crying for food.

He watched the young lad help the woman off the tram with her pushchair. She had a smiling face but tired eyes. The boy was not much younger than the mother, his hair gelled forward, all going in one direction. He smiled at the woman as he put the wheels of the pram on the pavement. ‘a beautiful baby, takes after her mother.’  With that he was gone but those 7 words put the spring in the step of woman who thought her spring had sprung some months before.

The boy and girl were springing though, springing on to the tram the woman and pram had just got off. Not quite holding hands, not quite a couple but very close. Going home from school, laughing, joking, smiling like only 15 year-old soon-to-be couples could. Maybe they were discovering the thrills of falling in love for the first time, maybe it was their second whatever it was they were still young enough for everything to be fresh, new, adventurous. Something special for them, something to savour.

The woman with the ice cream watched them, her eyes misting over, thinking of when she was in their place? She’d decided to treat herself to one last ice cream of the summer. Since the divorce that was her outlook, she did things because she wanted, not because it was expected. The tattoo, the anklet, the skirt maybe a bit too short for a woman of her age, she didn’t care, it made her feel sexy, she got admiring glances from lads half her age and after the way he’d tried to destroy her she wanted to feel good about herself.

The old guy turned his attention to the kids on the bench, 16, 17, also on their way home from school. Laughing, joking, just a little too loud perhaps. They were smoking in the least rebellious way possible. Not a shared ciggie bummed off some passer-by, but an electronic cigarette. He thought of the trouble he got into when he’d first smoked, the hiding he took from his dad who’d smelt it on him as soon as he’d walked through the door . Now there was no smell, and nothing to hide. These kids were taking up a habit designed to help others lose theirs. The world's gone mad he thought to himself as he got on his tram and headed back to his cat.