Tuesday Train Scene

The man on the train sways to and fro as he sits in his seat. His head – an old, rusted hood propped up by his arm – looks out the window with distant eyes at the falling slush. I have piano music in my ‘phones and I plant the audible melancholy onto him; compose him in my head. His chaffed steel toes tumble to the dirty train floor. His canvas jacket has a large burn on the pocket, possibly a Zippo accident. His grizzled moustache almost touches the gray on the other side of the window. The piano becomes slow and impressionistic. Mournful. He turns to survey the passengers. Rubs his dark hands on his pants. Adjusts his hat and looks back out the window. The sleet is beautiful. The train is on time. The piano is lost somewhere in his upper lip.