The Schedule Board By The Door
I say I go for the empty machines. Really I go on the nights his name's on the shift board.
The App Still Says Eleven Minutes
A nightly carpool with a coworker runs on a rideshare glitch that never updates, and a transfer that's about to end it for good.
Two Shots Ahead, On Purpose
He's timed the espresso to be warm at my break for months. Monday's new schedule might end that.
The Doorway I Stopped Checking
Every night I cross the street before his doorway so I don't have to decide whether to speak. Tonight it was empty.
Two Aprons, One Hook
Closing shift with dana, a dead scooter, and the route home that takes eleven minutes longer than it should.
He's Still Here After Last Call
Closing the bar alone, the regular who never leaves, and the stool I still flip first. The wanting you keep at arm's length.