There's my father. There on the brown and bronze leather seat.
There on the grand marble floor of the Alameda Train Station.
There he sits diligently with one leg crossed over the other.
There with the L.A. Times crossword puzzle across his lap,
Crossing off the clues he's solved.
There he escapes the Arrivers and Departers, Conductors and Engineers, the Enders and the Starters.
There he scribbles letters with no meaning, at least until each fragmented being collaborates with an intersecting column.
There he sits, lost in a world of vertical and horizontal squares.
There the last 5 boxes remain...
The clue is Where and the answer is there.