Emptying one's pockets.

It is strange weather, bright and sunny yesterday, gusty, windy and rainy today. I left work to run through the cold rain and ran down the stairs into the subway, and when I caught my breath, standing on the platform, 1.45 AM Monday morning, I noticed that the station was being power-washed. The platforms were clean, smelled fine and for a moment, I was reminded of the platforms of suburban rails, if you discount the large man talking to himself, a chinese man swinging plastic bags from his hands, a woman sitting with her groceries, and a few other odd players looking for picking up one thing or the other. When I left at my stop, I saw and heard the bleating trumphet, amidst the dregs of NY society that prawls the subway nights, so I emptied my pockets into his trumphet case that lay open, nearly empty, near a puddle, and walked past.