This morning, on the Westlake Station platform, a stranger approached me with a question about the train to SeaTac Airport. (I get that often. I must look like a guy who knows what he’s doing.) He was holding his Link ticket in his hand. I wasn’t sure what he was asking me, exactly. It wasn’t because of his accent, though. He was a soft-spoken fellow, and I could barely hear him above the tunnel noise. So, I told him everything about the light rail – that he was on the correct platform, that the train should arrive in four or five minutes, that the trip takes 37 minutes, and that he needs to keep his ticket with him to show to a ticket inspector, if he’s asked.
He seemed like he wanted to talk, so I asked him about his visit to Seattle. He’s from Austria, I learned, and he’s on his way to Los Angeles to visit his girlfriend. He’d been staying in Seattle for ten days, and it was his first visit to city. At least, I’m fairly sure that’s what he told me.
The train arrived. He shook my hand. We boarded different parts of the train.
I suspect that I became one of the friendly locals he met on his trip, a subject of future tales of his travels. That’s okay with me.