He had a bench all to himself, and an umbrella pinned to the slats of the back with his shoulder-blades. It was raining, he was dry enough, his sandwich was appropriately damp with sauce and not with rain water, and he could hear nothing but tires splashing through puddles, rain falling through storm drains, and an unearthly muffled quiet to the somewhat subdued but not silenced hubbub of the city.
A person in a raincoat with hunched shoulders, stopped nearby him and glanced around, then walked towards his bench. He tilted his head towards his umbrella, swallowing a bite of his sandwich. “You’re welcome to share my umbrella,” he offered. It was an old one, designed to fold into a long staff with a pointed tip, and easily would shield two from the city-tinged rain-drops.