Polite

Streets still slick with the day's rain and cherry blossom petals, pearly grey light in the sky, we take our time and walk the long way home from the train.

The construction workers have knocked off a little early, and seem to be at loose ends, standing beneath the awning at the site, smoking and chatting about nothing in low voices.

Visions of catcalls and stereotypes leer through my head, and I try not to grip Katie's hand any tighter as we walk past the gathered lot of them.

One smiles, a big toothy grin, nods to my wife, and she smiles back, both so polite I half expect him to tip his hardhat, like a real proper gent.