Punctuality

I gave the host my boss’s name and sat at a table with five place settings, feeling rare to be the first to arrive, and right on time. The diner had few customers, and the two waiters ambled from one to another, refilling coffee mugs, taking payments on the mobile receiver. Ten minutes pass, then fifteen, and I ordered a meal, checking my email, my Slack—no messages. The waiter came over with the plate of food, saying he sees the reservation was dated for tomorrow.

No. 159

riposte

A moving truck idles in the street. Two men exit the cab and wander aimlessly, scanning the houses and apartment buildings for the number they seek. Across the street, a young woman dressed in a robe steps onto her balcony.

“Can you turn off the truck?” she calls to the movers. “It’s very loud.”

“We’ll be five minutes,” they respond.

She repeats the sentence, and they theirs. Back and forth they repeat this dialogue, one side never making any further progress, all while the engine idles. The men remain distracted by the conversation and cannot reach their destination. Out of exhaustion, one climbs up into the cab and kills the engine.

No. 004