The fat one checked out the list of reserved seats on the Gorakhpur Passenger. Without his reading glasses, he slowly fingered through each of the names and checked the spelling to see whether it was his name. All this while, he squeezed the wind out of a puny boy in front of him.
The thin one, who had been picking his teeth with utmost concentration till now, spat out the masticated remains of his dinner. He eyed everyone else on the platform with a look of suspicion, but which actually was the innocent look of a naturally cross-eyed man.
Meanwhile the familiar sing-song voice crackled over the public address system and announced to anyone who cared to listen that the concerned train would be arriving an hour late.
"What was that?" the fat one asked, widening his eyes to relieve them from squinting.
"Who knows what they say?" replied the thin one, plunging the toothpick back into his mouth.
Ten minutes later, a Garibrath chugged into the station. "Is this ours?" the fat one asked again.
"Must be," the thin one replied. "It should have been here ten minutes ago. Let's move."
"But wait. Let me read the name of the train. G... R... ok. Good. Only ten minutes late. Will do..."
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