He paces. She decides it's best to stay put.
    
"Jesus Christ," he says, and several people look up from their phones. His head is tilted upward as if he's trying to see over the crowd, but he's easily the tallest man on the platform.
   
She shifts from side to side, bending one knee, then the other. She's been trying to identify the smell of the subway system in this city. It's their last day and it confounds her.
   
"Are we on the right platform?" she asks, as he strides past again.
   
He slips his backpack off his shoulder and pulls out his iPad. There's a board with information. She wanders over and scans it.
   
"We're in the wrong place," he says. She looks over to see him shoving the iPad back into his bag.
   
"Toenails!" she says, relieved.
   
"Come on."
   
He's already several paces ahead. She grabs the handle of her wheelie and rushes behind.
   
An elderly couple and a woman with a stroller containing a perturbed-looking toddler stand waiting at the elevator. He brushes past and pushes the button.
   
"I think we were in the right place," she says.
   
He stares at the elevator doors. Leans in and mashes the button repeatedly. "Well, that's it," he says, addressing everyone present, "the system is collapsing all around us."
   
The toddler waves his packet of goldfish in apparent agreement.
   
She smiles at the woman with the toddler. "How old?" she asks. The woman shakes her head.
   
He swings his bag around and walks away. She follows. Over her shoulder, she sees the elevator doors open.
   
When she catches up, they are nearly alone on the platform.
   
"Great. The train just left."
   
"I thought that was the one," she says. "Let's sit down."
   
He slumps onto the concrete bench next to her.
   
She says, "I think when we're in a foreign place, we feel anxious and we miss the signs." She watches a wave of travelers trickle onto the platform.
   
"I don't know what to do," he says.
   
"You don't have to know. Nobody has to."
   
He studies his kneecaps. "They were there again this morning. The old hurts. Waiting for me to open my eyes."
   
"But you did open your eyes," she says. "And look, here we are."
   
The bell chimes. A new train approaches. She holds his hand and they watch it fill.

Kathy Fish is the author of WILD LIFE: COLLECTED WORKS, 2003 - 2018, which is forthcoming from Matter Press. She's a faculty mentor with the Mile-High MFA program at Regis University in Denver.

"A Foreign Place" is a finalist for the 2019 Mythic Picnic Prize in Fiction.

Read Sierra Soto's 2½ Questions interview with Kathy.

Read Kathy's postcard.

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