Cognoscenti

Dave was in the bowels
of Grand Central Terminal
minding his own business
mostly
well after midnight
while sitting on a typewriter
one of those old, boxed numbers
that's in your grandmother's closet
when a stranger interjected.

"You've missed the last one, man.
Find a hotel."

The bearer of bad news
pushed his broom triumphantly
proud of his attention to clockwork.

Dave turned his head
and smiled politely
without an air of arrogance--
a true man of faith.

The janitor spat at a rusted rail
but missed.
A rat the size of his newborn
carried a loaf of bread
with its teeth
into a shadow
that no one would ever see.

Much to his surprise
a train backed up to the platform
quietly, with purpose
and opened its door
for long enough
for Dave to enter
lugging his typewriter
and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc
that he'd hidden in his jacket
then pulled away
as silently as it had arrived.

The corrected authority
checked his ticking wristwatch.

Dave made it home
right on time.