The rain had fallen steadily without let up since before he woke. Outside the summer flowers and leaves droop under the weight of the droplets. There had so much heat lately that he'd almost forgotten this feeling, the cool freshness in the breeze. Come late autumn Faust wouldn't be nearly be so impressed with the rain in whatever way it falls; it would be as ubiquitous as the lousy sit-coms and weight-loss advertisements. But for September it wa such a novelty that he found himself sitting on the front porch, coffee in hand, watching the drips as they fell from beneath the guttering. Simply being outside without the need for sunglasses, taking in the softened hues with the naked eyes, and listening to the drumming was a treat. Something about the rain had Faust more relaxed than he had been in days and he was in no hurry for the clouds to vanish, returning everything to the dry heat that was so customary at this time of year.

The water droplets fell like they simply could not think of anything better to do. There was a sly laziness about them, as if they could barely be bothered to conform to the will of gravity. When Faust held his bare arm out of the motel window, the droplets splattered upon the long, outstretched fingers, made all the dryer by reading in front of the fireplace. They were large and soft, not like the mean driving rain of back home at all. The Coyote tilted my fingers upwards and watched the remnants of the drops run downwards like tiny rivers. If this was the way rainy days were in Baska Town, he could get used to it real fast; even the sound on the cedar roof felt extremely comforting. With a half smile, he retreated, leaving the window open. This way, he was able to hear the steady drumming all the louder while he turned age worn pages of long forgotten books.

The train was late. Faust was left shivering on the platform with ten minutes of numbing quiet. There were several other people, seemingly also waiting on the train. The gentle clunk of a lipstick stained lid and 6 am Earl Grey landed in the bin with the flick of her wrist. She looked like a Caroline. Long, soft curls and taupe boots. Faust picked at his hair. A rogue page of yesterday’s newspaper chased by the wind like a pigeon with wings fluttering with feathers of rhetoric and melodrama.

The raucous, metallic shriek heralds the arrival of the decrepit carriage, standing in defiance of its condition - all corroded iron and tacky upholstery. The doors reluctantly eases open with the force of a stocky station guard, as if gripped by age, the handles stiff with arthritis. There is only one advantage of waking up at five thirty in the morning from the cacophonous chorus of squabbling birds. Faust was endowed with the generous elbow room and a guaranteed window seat all to himself. Settling into his self-entitled throne, he unraveled a 470 calorie cream cheese and smoked salmon bagel, humble in its crumpled paper bag. Crumbs rain into the crevices of the grimy moquette fabric as he attempted to swallow the taste of regret. Should definitely have ordered that smoothie instead. The train takes a plunge, inching forward at an excruciating pace. It rocks back and forth, its relentless whining and groaning comparable to a resident of any nursing home. Saturated fat, carbs, cholesterol and hypertension - big words thrown around in last month’s Women’s Health issue.

‘Health will be the bane of your existence if you miss out on this dieting tip!’

Faust tuck the bagel back into its bag. The ebb and flow of movement brings him to his station. A blessing and a curse.



*Note: Grimoire Heart members have a skill that gives them 10% off on travel.