It is still dark when I pass the underpass that leads to my departure track in the morning. There he sits again, like every morning in the same place, crouched on a bundle - an older man in front of a tiled wall. A neon tube flickers. The man plays the accordion, his head slightly inclined, not devoid of devotion, his upper body sways back and forth, soon to the side. He is wrapped in a colorful blanket and wears fingerless gloves. At his feet is a dog that is gray like the gentleman in a suit walking past. I hear a way that I do not know, never heard, it is foreign, it comes from far away. I hear the strange way and know ... it will be with me until late at night.
the silent one