Vending-machine bluebefore the first train.One blue canleans by itself.A rain-wet backcasts a shadow in the glass.
A man searches for coins.Inside his jacketkeys make a sound.In front of the buttonshis finger stays where it is.
At the end of the long benchthere is someone unknown.Only the tips of their shoesare in the rain.Their eyes stay closed.They say nothing.
The man buysa warm canand sets it softlyat the bench's end.He wipes his fingertipson his sleeve.
The can is still closed.Before the blue boxthere is no steam.That person's shoesmove a little.
A station signalsounds once far away.The man searches for his ticket.Only the canis a little closer to the long bench.