Winston recalls waiting beneath a platform roof after a railway shift. Rain struck a loose gutter in an uneven pattern. He tapped it against his lunch tin, trying to find where the beat began. A colleague joined in on the bench without looking up from his newspaper. Their small performance ended when the train arrived. No audience applauded; neither man expected one. In his hospital room, rain touches the window more softly. Winston tries the old rhythm on the closed book, then lets it change.