Here comes another one he thought without moving. The subway here was above ground, and the train he could hear in the distance he had detected moments earlier in the subtle buzz of the metal bench beneath his wide wingspan.

His hands lay on either side of the brown scarred metal railing of the back support, where rust was beginning to take root, and the paint had mostly given way to dull grey unfinished steel. His hands twitched and tapped out some rhythm in his head, and the faint pong ponging noise this made on the hollow metal soothed him. They were gnarled, his hands, from hard work at something- he wasn’t sure what, but he could see in the creases and cracks that there was definitely some hard work there.

The train, which now sounded like a junk metal landslide, was applying its brakes. The low pitched woo that the brakes gave off, with the high pitched squeal as a back up chorus, always reminded him of nature, something in nature, like frogs maybe.