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The Box
At eleven, the end of the day is a block away. I am strict with time, especially when it comes to rendezvous. A cross-bag around my shoulder, I spin my thumb around the keyring, subvocally calculating the time remaining. Thankfully, today I am ahead of schedule. So I move to the corner for an intermission and light a Dunhill to kill the stress that’s been piling up in my chest all day at the office, supposedly with some of my lung cells. The extra time affords me peace, away from the hustle and bustle of the main streets. Don’t these people ever sleep? Relishing my smoke in the serenity of the snickets, I feel incredibly exhausted and simultaneously awake. In these silent seconds as I wait for the world to slumber, I find myself undertaking a somnambulant stroll.
The smoke then fills the air around me. In the grey shade, I am screening my version of the film I’m about to see. Yes, I’m going to the cinema. Based on the short synopsis that is intentionally written to lure me into spending 10 pounds, I envision the most unexpected surprise. I appreciate creative perspectives and like to think outside the box. Queer as a clockwork orange, some say.
Now I am a block away and I must rejoin the hubbub. My legs are running out of steam and my tab out of smoke. As I reach the hilltop, penetrating even the thick haze of alcohol, a blur of a giant emerges from the asphalt plane. It was Colin, an acquaintance from college.
“Going to the movies?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s your date?”
“Oh, I’m flying solo tonight.”
“Oh, really?”
Colin said this with a smirk that I couldn’t quite decipher. I was abruptly annoyed and broke off our meaningless small talk.
“Gotta go—can’t be late.”
I got out of there as soon as I could. But his smug smile stuck. How thickheaded could Colin be to assume that I “had” a date on a Friday night at the cinema? Surely, coming to the movies alone was not even a subtle irregularity.
Hoping that someone else would concur, I amble towards the box office where a deft attendant greets me efficiently.
“Which show?”
“Deja-vu.”
“Deja-vu, for one at 11:45?”
And at that moment, the fact that this inept flunkey did not ask “two” made me wish he were dead.
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