Midnight train

At a train station, he stood waiting in the cold. The last train of the night was late, and for once, he was early.

It was a bright night, illuminated by a full moon high in the sky—no clouds at all.

He wore a long trench coat and a hat that refused to fly away despite the strong wind.

Half an hour passed, and there was still no train. He approached the ticket booth and knocked, but there was no one inside.

He knocked again, harder this time. The light was on, but there was no sign of anyone.

He moved toward a bench to sit, but it was wet from the earlier rain.

Stepping away, he noticed a man smoking on a nearby bench.

He looked up at the clock tower, then down at his watch. The time seemed right.

He approached the man and asked if he knew anything about the train.

“It’s always late,” said the man, still smoking.

“Is it almost midnight?” he asked. “Any chance it’ll be here before that?”

“Don’t know,” the man said. “But what’s the rush? You’re already late.”