The train. One day, in a railway station, a traveller without almost no luggage was lowered. In the station had not any awaiting person only a dog, a bird, and the Moon, because at that very moment, was dark. Traveler as if he knew the place, put the hat he summer is the neck of its winter coat, rolled a skinny all calmly, and in the opposite direction to that llebaba the train, started to walk down the middle two Rails turning his cigar, and expelling a well concentrated puff of smoke. The dog looked at him as if she knew it by moving its tail, and arguing that smile that only they know put the dogs when someone drops them well. Pajarito fumbled two well pitched trills and flying over the hat, dropped him a cagadita to the stranger in are welcome. The man smoke his cigar and his shadow, were becoming smaller as he walked with good step toward the horizon, where faded from view. The night entered the place of Arrabaldo, very far place, of more beyond even, that of where sleep storms, more away than the sky, even this stranger had almost no face, his face was limited to a few simple strokes, expressionless, he had no approximate age, even is you could guess race, was a man without a soul, almost it wasn’t human, it was only a being almost live your steps they were determined and their fate seemed also. He continued walking days and nights without rest, without looking back, only with an address that marked you those Rails that each side accompanied with that cold color metal that have routes, and the intense smell of the bouncing treated wood with oil. The days went by with their rains, winds, their fragrant sunrises of those flowers that accompany the sides of the passage of so many trains, drawing in the air so majestic shape exist, their quiet evenings and its sunsets, announcing another day lived with his long and silent night wrapping of darkness until the most pure souls.