Killing time that was what he was good at. He made the second hand tick along the face. He stirred it. And stirred it again. He tapped his hands on the table and checked his phone and there were no texts in it. Nobody was looking in. He looked down at the coffee again and tasted it, it was bad. There was the sound of shuddering tracks and the train rushed past. He saw himself in the window with hair all grey around the sides and he saw himself jumping between windows and then all gone, left with the arrivals board and the people on the other side of the tracks with all their carrier bags. He looked down at his wallet with the photo of his wife tucked beneath see through stuff. It was the only photo he found and he had folded it along the middle and the white lines always annoyed him but they were necessary and he didn’t look at the other side because he didn’t know the face. He pretended the arm around his wife was his and then went back to stirring his coffee whilst trains rushed past.
