My neck cranes past the long queue
The discomfort is bearable, or so I tell myself
For a second, I am in doubt
Surely, there must be some mistake – must I really take a number?
My neighbors rub against my shoulders uncomfortably
I’m wedged in between “late night meetings” and “bank errands”
I make myself smaller, compact – as I make more room for them
Suddenly, the lights are closing, the place is packing up
A neon sign brightens in the tunneling darkness,
The light hums
“SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED”, it read.
So I stood, left empty-handed
Discarded the late night musings, the dinner plans
I crawled into bed
Tired bones pressed heavy against the mattress.
Letting out an audible sigh
But the air was thick with silence
It was all bearable
Or so I tell myself.