Junkyard Post Four Week Two

Walking to the Train Station at 4:29 AM in Spoleto, Italy

It's easy to cross the normally stuffed piazza,
instead of mopeds and teenagers, there's two cars and a cat.
The streets, lit like noon, welcome me and the crossroads
of morning. At the station, a man stands behind me at the ticket kiosk
as a bum sits on his cardboard box on the bench. I hear someone
blow their nose outside and I'm at home: eight years old and waiting
for my father outside the men's room, anxious to go,
but I can't remember where.