I carefully stepped down onto the damp concrete, looking around. There was a small ticket office, but the window was iced up and it looked fairly deserted.
I pulled the cherry-red sheepskin mitten off my hand and fumbled in my pocket for the small golden disc that was both my return ticket and touring pass. I couldn’t afford to lose it – I had barely been able to afford one.
I remembered what I’d seen others do before and quickly took off my necklace put the chain through the little hole in the middle of the pass-coin, and fastened it again. It hung there, next to the various charms I’d picked up from past excursions.