He turns slowly and picks his way between the rails to the footbridge where the girl had fallen. Her discarded running shoes are still lying between the sleepers. He gathers them up and turns them over and over in his hands. Slowly and carefully he ties the laces together and throws the shoes, spinning like a bolas, into the overhead wires. They snare one of the lines, swing back and forth, and rock slowly to rest, one slightly higher than the other.
In the early morning light, the pair of running shoes hangs from the wires in full view of commuters flocking to the city. Lost in thought and peering through grimy carriage windows, few notice this semaphore climbing to the heavens, casting a silent anthem against the metallic sky.