The rain didn’t stop. It wasn’t heavy, just steady—persistent in a way that crept into everything. The air was cold, the kind of cold that made your bones feel hollow. Ben sat in the diner booth, staring out the window at the gray blur of the world. He hadn’t eaten yet. He wasn’t hungry, not really. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything close to hunger. Just a slow burn in his chest, a dull ache that had been with him for as long as he could remember.
The rain came down in long, thin sheets, bending the streetlights into ghosts. It was that time of night when everything felt suspended, like the world was holding its breath. He watched the drops race each other down the window, wondering where they went after they disappeared into the gutter. He didn’t believe in things like fate or destiny, but there was something about those drops that made him think of the way people moved through life—how they all seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere, anywhere, but in the end, they all ended up in the same place.
The door to the diner opened, and a man stepped in, shaking the rain from his coat. Ben didn’t look up, but he heard the sound of his boots on the linoleum floor. The man sat at the counter, a few stools down, and ordered a coffee. The waitress, a woman with short, tired eyes, poured the coffee without asking for cream or sugar, just the way he liked it.
Ben knew him. The man was someone from before. From another time, another life. Ben didn’t know his name, but he recognized the weariness in the man’s posture, the way he carried himself like someone who had been traveling too long, with too many miles between them and their destination.
Ben’s eyes followed the man, the way he shifted in his seat, the way his fingers drummed on the edge of his cup. There was something familiar about it, but it didn’t quite make sense. The man caught him looking, his eyes sharp, like he knew what Ben was thinking before he even thought it.
“You’re not from around here,” the man said, his voice low, the kind of voice that felt like it had been worn down by too much silence.
Ben shook his head, but didn’t answer. There wasn’t much to say. He hadn’t been anywhere for a long time, not really. Not in any way that mattered.
The man took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving Ben’s face. It wasn’t an aggressive look, just an observation. As if he were sizing him up, trying to decide if Ben was someone worth talking to.
“You know,” the man said, setting the cup down with a soft clink, “this place doesn’t change much. Not like the rest of the world. You come in here, you sit down, you drink your coffee. You don’t have to think about anything else.”
Ben stared out the window again. The rain was falling harder now, and the streetlights were just shadows in the mist. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that kind of stillness—when everything around him had stopped moving and it felt like the world was just waiting for something to happen.
“That’s the trick, right?” Ben finally said, his voice rough from disuse. “You stop thinking, you stop remembering. And it doesn’t hurt as much.”
The man laughed softly, a dry sound that didn’t reach his eyes. “You think it’s that simple?”
Ben didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure if he believed it was simple. Maybe it was. Or maybe it was the kind of thing you told yourself to get through the day. He’d tried a lot of things over the years to make it simpler, but none of it worked. Nothing ever worked.
“I used to believe in a lot of things,” the man said, his tone shifting, becoming heavier. “Things like redemption, like forgiveness. Thought maybe there was some kind of grace waiting for me, if I could find it. But it never showed up.”
Ben glanced at him, his gaze flicking over the man’s face. The weariness was deeper now, more than just the tiredness of travel. It was something else, something he recognized in himself.
“So what are you looking for now?” Ben asked, finally leaning forward.
The man smiled, but it was a tired smile, the kind that came from years of trying to believe in something. “I’m not looking for anything. Not anymore. I think I’m just here to watch it all pass by.”
Ben nodded slowly, as if he understood. The rain fell harder now, drumming against the window like a thousand tiny hands. The sound filled the space between them, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
The waitress came by, refilled their coffee, and disappeared into the back. There was a long silence between Ben and the man, the kind of silence that hung in the air like smoke, thick and heavy. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just a kind of stillness that neither of them felt the need to break.
Finally, the man stood up, leaving a few bills on the counter. “Guess I’ll be going,” he said, turning toward the door. “Good luck, friend.”
Ben didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. The man walked out, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft jingle. Ben sat there for a long time after, watching the rain continue its slow, steady march across the world. It was the kind of rain that made everything feel like it was on pause, like the world was waiting for something to happen, but not in a hurry for it.
He finished his coffee, stood up, and left a few dollars on the table. He didn’t know where he was going next, but he wasn’t in a hurry. The world would still be there, waiting, when he was ready. And for now, that was enough.
Boho Dreams of Space and Time 