“I’d like to write about train drivers,” I announce to the editor.
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“Train-drivers?” she yells, popping a toffee into her mouth.
“Train-drivers” she says again…moving the toffee to one side. Why?
“I’m curious. About what they carry in their Gladstone bags and what they do when they’re not driving trains.
She stares at me blankly as she picks at a piece of toffee between her teeth, looking around for the toffee jar.
“They’re taken for granted.”
She rolls her eyes. “Exactly,” she says. “People don’t care. They’re drivers, not celebrities.”
She finds the toffee jar, picks it up and frowns.
“You might be surprised,” I say. “They could have some really weird interests.”
“Yeah, like playing with train sets,” she says.
“And how cute are some of the conductors?” I ask.
“I thought this was about train drivers.”
She shakes the jar vigorously. “Where are all the liquorice ones?”
I persevere. Just because what they do sounds boring doesn’t mean they’re boring. I’m not talking about accountants.”
“Oh,” she says, “That reminds me I must give mine a call.”
“They might collect rare butterflies or cross-dress on their days off.”
She stops shaking the jar, and grimaces.
“Oh that’s awful,” she says with a shudder. “I can’t understand anyone collecting those poor helpless little winged thingies.”
She frowns again as she puts her finger in the jar and pokes around.
“We-e-ll, see what you… Oh look!”
She dangles the toffee teasingly, beaming at it like a long-lost friend. “I found a liquorice one.”
She untwists the wrapper and pops the sweet in her mouth. “Mmm, mm, mm.
“Where were we? Oh yes. Well, see what you come up with. "Maybe…maybe not."