Sad Clown

Riding on the train to town was a two-fold interruption in his days path.  It was a time when no pressure attacked him, and no work could find its way to his lap.  It was a moment of nothing, of though, and reflection.

His section zoomed by neighborhood after neighborhood.  His every second he spent looking out the window, seeing the landscape in the present.  Outside the right hand window, the one nearest, rows of vacant buildings grew over the horizon.  His eyes watered.  He knew, later in his life, like these buildings, he would be found past his use.

He cried because he knew it would happen, and because he was 52 and knew the day was coming.  When even his children would stop coming for him but rather as a tribute, to respect him.  His knees ached and shoulders were sore from work, as if his own body was even telling him to step aside.

On that empty train he openly bawled.

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