centre of the sleeping town

Friday October 27
The railway station's lights sparkle in the dark, there are people there on their business walking this way and that way. They are silhouetted against the illuminated facade, a-lively place in the centre of the sleeping town. see all this from the window of the bus, as it navigates the junction at the railway station's entrance. A final turn into the bus station, it stops, and the doors open.

Hurry across the bus station grounds, over the kerbstones and onto the railway station forecourt. Say the usual 'Guten Morgen' to the man there, the man standing at the ashtray, just lighting his cigarette, with his rucksack and his pigtail. His hair is tied back in a small knot today.
 Up the stairs and into the railway cafe. The woman in line tofore me buys two small bottles of cognac, the kind used to satisfy a need in the morning. Order the coffee, the italian woman, with the dark rimmed glasses is serving today. A black coffee, get a plastic lid, and into the waiting room. There, in the far corner. an old looking weak man, with very long grey hair around the bald crown of his freckled brown head, with an unkempt beard. He is surrounded by piles of plastic bags containing belongings. Something falls to the ground, makes a noise, and he bends to pick it up. He moves so slowly, every second seems to cause pain, he has no coordination, balance is difficult.

He sits there with his things, an orange bag around his neck.

Sit at the table, write notes.

The bald café man comes over to the buttering machine, he will now prepare to butter rolls. The work area is behind a glass barrier, allowing the customers to watch their rolls being prepared.

The man with the bags comes over, and stares at the food waiting for use and sale, all the rolls, the boxes of salad, the tomatoes in a heap.
Maybe he is hungry.

Time to go to the platform, there is a train to catch