For a few hours every day Marie-Claire Girard perched on her small balcony overlooking the marshalling yards and knitted long scarves in dull grey wool. When he wasn’t at school her young son would join her, running a wooden train around the railing and dreaming of being a driver. Once her scarf had reached six feet in length, she’d wrap it around her neck and walk to a cafe where she’d donate it to an elderly patron. From there it worked its way to Switzerland and into France, the trains and their cargo encoded in the unusual pattern of stitches.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.