A late train and the human touch
A late train. Scheduled to depart just before 8pm, but almost 30 minutes late. I’m a bit tired after a two days business trip to Florence. I can’t wait to get home, and the damn train is late. Sadly, trains are like that in Italy, simply unreliable.
Finally, I get aboard. As usual at this time of the day, the train is almost empty. A few workers trying to get home (hey, that’s me), a few foreign tourists moving to Venice. Nobody talks with anyone. We’re all utterly alone, even if we’re not.
Somewhere near Bologna someone approaches me. I can smell him before actually seeing him. He looks like a homeless, sun-burned skin, long white hair, a light bag at hand. He looks 65, he’s probably 20 years younger than that. He stinks. Heavily.
He’s asking for information, he wants to get to Venice. His eyes are bright. Incredibly bright. I confirm he’s on a train for Venice, and he smiles. A true, sunny smile. He shows me his ticket. He’s not valid on this class of trains (even if they suck like all the others), and moreover I highlight that it’s a ticket from Venice to Ancona, not even on the same route. He smiles even more, a bit surprised… Oops!… He almost laughs, and looks like a child just caught stealing biscuits…
He thanks me a lot and then sits on the floor, near a door. I give him thumbs up when I get off the train, and he smiles again.
He stinks. Heavily. But he’s the most human and alive on the train.
