Sitting on a park bench, with all his belongings crammed up in a rather crumpled plastic bag, with no money, no cigarettes, no food, he felt adrift. He was not comfortable in the park at such an early hour, no willing joggers that morning, no dog sitters, no patrolling cops that day, no lonesome drunkard muttering random curses in his desperate malaise. The newsagent kiosk was closed, the traffic light was blinking vainly at the desert crossroad. A cold drizzle settled over his worn out suit, making his bones resentful. A vivid sense of loss numbed his consciousness as he felt his left ring finger had already lost the deep white sign left by his wedding ring. A smokey train on a foggy day, that's what he was. Nothing. He had nothing. This wasn't a thought, it was a statement, he thought, and while he was thinking that he realized that he was thinking again. Maybe he could take advantage of that. If only he could have something to start from. If only he could turn back time. If only he could think that, since he had nothing, he had nothing to lose. He stared at the traffic light. The rain was heavier now.