Charon's fare

He looked up and saw a totem peering at him askew through the glass door of the cafe in the remaining light of dusk.

It was a sad elongated face, with large rounded black shadows for eyes, the nose of a stony gray parrot and a small conical mouth that receded into a long rectangular chin. The steely hood of a parked truck formed its broad, square shoulders, gleaming in the yellow streetlight overhead. The trunk rolled into the front wheel of a resting bicycle.

It stood still on the street curb, watching the passing traffic wearing the cold cryptic wariness of a sphinx, flicking its red tongue in a slow rhythm, as day slipped into night.

He walked up closer and pulled two coins from his pocket. He could hear the satisfying clink of metal swallowing metal as he fed.

As he walked away, he turned back to look. The meter had stopped blinking.