A Pause

He pulled the car over to the curb. One hand on the wheel, one on the phone, waiting for a response, staring at his last message. His heartbeat became overwhelming. Sudden claustrophobia struck. He shook his arms out and tried to engage the muscles in his legs. A traffic cop pulled up behind him. Looking in the mirror, he cursed under his breath, then pulled back into traffic to search for another place to wait.

No. 171

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

Courier

The courier stood on the ground floor beside the main road. He left the medium size box addressed to me on the ground behind him. Passersby headed to the boutique grocery store; buses ran along the street feet away from him; coworkers crossed the walkway toward restaurants.

I stood on the second floor landing above, waiting for him. Others entered and exited the main lobby. With each new person I looked to see if one or another may hold the box I ordered.

No. 084