He’s fighting the window and it refuses; that’s right, old man, it refuses - can a window refuse? no matter, this one refuses - to open.
And his face, you say? Well, it’s raining. Friends for ten years; since student days; friends for ten years before he stopped, before he shut his ears, to all their chatter.
That talk; those wonderful asides; all that history - yesterday’s clouds, rain that now ruins everything.
Yet still he fights. With fists and curses. That damned window! Closed still. He watches through a storm of arms and hands the sad faces of his friends.
Through the glass, frosted by his tears, he sees…
He has one last go to pull it down; to grasp…The glass will not shift; the train leaves; and he sees… He sees his friends; they refuse, old man, to smile or wave; sculptured to the platform.