The Train and the Clock

He stood there, at the station. Between the tracks and himself, his cane. Sturdy type, been through a lot. Nothing that denoted wealth, but had an undeniable elegance. He gazed at the tracks. Firmly. From time to time, he looked at the station clock and towards the tunnel, where the train would emerge. Due to the stillness in the world and time, shifted his attention back to the rails. There was so much concentration in his eyes, one could imagine that he analyzed the quality of the tracks, calculated the length of the line, or perhaps interests charged by the bank, the price of milk. Maybe he was trying to round up the answers to the questions that his small son made during breakfast, the slogans of the industries, the headlines in the papers. Maybe he was just watching little gray mice that are camouflaged by the floor under the tracks. Maybe. When the clock struck three, the train lights flooded our sights and the cane fell.

The End.