The third track the train is leaving. A boy with glasses looks out from its compartment. He just put his suitcase on the shelf that is above the seats, looked around, in the compartment, as well as an unbearable smell of disinfectant, there is a scent of orange. And then silence. Just another man: an elderly man with an old velvet jacket and a beige shirt, which is handling a small radio with headphones black. It has a white mustache, the beard of the day before, he arrives not a pleasant smell, but intimate, home, perhaps because the clothes, perhaps from his calloused hands and yellow-skinned orange. The boy looks at him from the suitcase pulled out a book, rests on the seat and sits near the window. Is spreading to the north, spent two days in a small seaside town in the company of a woman who does not love. They meet every month in a different city, she waits at the train station and accompanying him the next day, waiting for the next part that his city does not want to miss a single minute of his presence. Always try to smile, but it has a sad face is tense, looks at him constantly, and kidnapped love, but does not feel accepted: in the hotel room, under the covers, the two whispered words that look real, with tears women's pain for a hidden truth. She thanked him, never says no. Then in the evening leaving the room, dine in restaurants sleepy, go for a walk, he speaks freely, look at other girls without thinking about how she feels. Neither she, perceiving that it is not attractive, you feel you scold him for that. He wants, but fears of causing annoyance, to feel helpless if he tells her: "Why should not I do it? We're not together. " Now he is on the train, the smell of orange peel is even more dense: think of when he was little neighbor across the elder called him the afternoon at two o'clock, under a hot sun invited him in that old house he did not like , made him sit in that tiny kitchen and peeled an orange. The spray that departed from the skin and spread in the air mixed with the powder he had always liked. Then he gave the licorice before he went away, always take an old tin can that was in the kitchen cupboard. And before you go out the door, while the neighboring closed the jar with licorice, he often met the man with the funny blue raincoat: always greeted him, but he did not answer. Now, on that train, the smell of bitter orange is mixed with a story already ended. Outside the train on the track, standing near the bench and the machine to stamp the tickets, she looks at the entrance of the car. She cries, not to hide it anymore. He looks at her, gives her a nod. But she does not want to watch it. Continues to cry. Dignified, looking down the metal plate on the car below the first window and the symbol of the second class. And as the train departs, leaving behind her tears, suddenly a light appeared and he, who has looked out the window to pass a girl who did not feel accepted, think for a moment that has never seen her so beautiful as at that time . I know, because I was on that train.
