Flick.
He sits on the bench. A train will arrive soon.
Clack.
He sits trying to not think about the arriving train. He wants to board. To go home. To sleep.
Flick.
A lighter in his hand dances. Opens and closes.
Clack.
Again and again.
Flick.
People give him looks. Some frown. A few open their mouths to tell him something and then change their minds.
Clack.
They move away.
Flick.
The train arrives. All he needs to do is stand up, walk a few steps as the door opens and then the train will move him along, closer to home.
Clack.
He tries not to think about it. To just let it happen. It is only a few steps. So few steps.
Flick.
A melody plays. The train doors close.
Clack.
It’s five minutes until the next train. Twelve for the one after that.
Flick.
Clack.
Flick.
Deadly Troubadour 