Five minutes to grab a coffee at the cafe in the lobby of his office building and then three more to get to his floor. Like a gooney, he cautiously coasts around the floor before tumbling into the chair in his cubicle landing pad mere seconds before his supervisor walks by.
***
The doors of the 85 bus parted accompanied by Armenian cursing.
"Why don't you leave your filthing house one minute earlier?!" spat the driver, "every filthing day you jam up my bus, dude. Filthing respect!"
"Why don't you leave your fucking doors open one minute longer?" Will sighed. "Or get to the stop one minute later."
"I know what you trying to do, you troublemaker. But I drive the bus, you do not drive the bus," the drive declared, staring hard through the windshield, "it is my job to move the bus. Sit down."
Will shrugged and dumped coins into the till. "Troublemaker."
***
The low frequency waves rolled across the crowd, pulsing from the speaker stacks surrounding the stage. A sea of flannel and plaid hummed along in calculated nonchalance. Will stood at the back of the dance hall, barely able to see the band on stage, his back against the bar. Beside him were a gaggle of women with ancillary boyfriends and husbands in loose orbits. One kept brushing against his arm, putting her feelers out before attempting to engage. He smiled. He had had a few real beers already, not the two-dollar swill in skinny long cans that the indistinguishable mass in front of him sipped with pride. His teeth showed for a minute before he leaned in, creating a cove against the audible onslaught.
"What?" he shouted.
"I said, I like their new album better. But I hate this band," she shouted back, touching his arm again. He grinned.
"I think they are actually trying to liquify the crowd," he replied.
She laughed. "You're funny."
"When does the music start?" he said.
She snorted,clasping his wrist. He peeled open their bubble and scanned the crowd again. He had felt unique for most of the evening, but then he spotted them; his type. Oh well. He no longer felt above anyone. He didn't really mind. He was still a minority.
"...probably have to get a cab. These bitches all showed up on their bikes! Can you believe that?" she was saying, gesturing at her friends.
"I rode my bike," he said, "How did you get here?"
"My husband dropped me off..." she drifted off.
"Why isn't he going to pick you up?" he asked, leaning in a little, paying attention.
"Oh he won't be home when this thing is over," she said with a raised eyebrow and a laugh.
"That's too bad," he said, laughed, and patted her shoulder with his free hand, "He shouldn't leave you stranded like that. It's not such a nice thing to do."
She leaned back, regarding him as if she was just seeing him in focus for the first time.
"You're too cute," she said, "and you're not mad that I'm married?" she added skeptically.
He laughed, a real-laugh, took a drink from his glass, and replied, "Why on earth would I be mad about something like that? Is your marriage something I should be angry about?"
***
The doors of the 85 bus parted accompanied by Armenian cursing.
"Why don't you leave your filthing house one minute earlier?!" spat the driver, "every filthing day you jam up my bus, dude. Filthing respect!"
"Why don't you leave your fucking doors open one minute longer?" Will sighed. "Or get to the stop one minute later."
"I know what you trying to do, you troublemaker. But I drive the bus, you do not drive the bus," the drive declared, staring hard through the windshield, "it is my job to move the bus. Sit down."
Will shrugged and dumped coins into the till. "Troublemaker."
***
The low frequency waves rolled across the crowd, pulsing from the speaker stacks surrounding the stage. A sea of flannel and plaid hummed along in calculated nonchalance. Will stood at the back of the dance hall, barely able to see the band on stage, his back against the bar. Beside him were a gaggle of women with ancillary boyfriends and husbands in loose orbits. One kept brushing against his arm, putting her feelers out before attempting to engage. He smiled. He had had a few real beers already, not the two-dollar swill in skinny long cans that the indistinguishable mass in front of him sipped with pride. His teeth showed for a minute before he leaned in, creating a cove against the audible onslaught.
"What?" he shouted.
"I said, I like their new album better. But I hate this band," she shouted back, touching his arm again. He grinned.
"I think they are actually trying to liquify the crowd," he replied.
She laughed. "You're funny."
"When does the music start?" he said.
She snorted,clasping his wrist. He peeled open their bubble and scanned the crowd again. He had felt unique for most of the evening, but then he spotted them; his type. Oh well. He no longer felt above anyone. He didn't really mind. He was still a minority.
"...probably have to get a cab. These bitches all showed up on their bikes! Can you believe that?" she was saying, gesturing at her friends.
"I rode my bike," he said, "How did you get here?"
"My husband dropped me off..." she drifted off.
"Why isn't he going to pick you up?" he asked, leaning in a little, paying attention.
"Oh he won't be home when this thing is over," she said with a raised eyebrow and a laugh.
"That's too bad," he said, laughed, and patted her shoulder with his free hand, "He shouldn't leave you stranded like that. It's not such a nice thing to do."
She leaned back, regarding him as if she was just seeing him in focus for the first time.
"You're too cute," she said, "and you're not mad that I'm married?" she added skeptically.
He laughed, a real-laugh, took a drink from his glass, and replied, "Why on earth would I be mad about something like that? Is your marriage something I should be angry about?"
