Shifting Timetables

Might as well unpack the bags. The man at the front desk said there are no trains this evening.
Nor will there be any.
Ever.
He was removing the clock that hung behind the desk.
This is home from now on.

Those of us who have a room are the lucky ones—there are no more vacancies anywhere between here and there. Dark clouds are moving in.
A red-cap’d bellhop was helping an old woman in a wheelchair with her oxygen tank. I had to walk down and up— seems there’d been a fire in the elevator.
They’ve got someone on the telegraph non-stop trying to get through, but it’s really just for appearances.
The shops are going to close soon—the horse drawn vegetable cart was already heading off down the street.

They were serving a late lunch and a few of the tables were occupied. The way the diners sat, either looking deeply into each others eyes, holding hands, or nervously glancing around to see what others were doing—well, it was quite clear that everyone was trying to find their own way to deal with the situation.
Even the fish in that huge tank seemed to be swimming erratically.

Since going back is not an option any longer I’m expecting the tensions will rise, personal situations might explode. Agoraphobia outdoors and claustrophobia inside. In time the supply lines for food and other essentials will add to the chaos. But for now there is a blanket of civility and decorum dampening any deepening fear and the forthcoming screaming.
I’m not the sort to carry a weapon but it has crossed my mind that some form of protection would be good, might be necessary even.
I saw that banker we talked to yesterday asking to retrieve the items he had put in the hotel safe .
I think I hear crying from the room next door.

I’ll go get some bread and cheese at the shop. When I get back I think we should push the dresser up against the door for overnight. The window is safe, we’re up high enough. We can take turns sleeping. The sound of the sirens and helicopters will probably die down later.

There’s an odd sulpherous smell outside. I saw two seperate people in the grocery line buying rat poison along with their regular foodstuffs. I chose to pass on that. I brought us some cheese and fruit—and bread and wine. We can play holy communion. Lots of military vehicles coming down the street. Sun is setting. The man at the front desk asked me to say goodnight—to Madame with the green feathered hat, he said.

© AleXander Hirka 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Read RemingtonWrite’s version here:

In August 2020, I set myself the challenge of creating a daily digital collage based on an image and a concept. The image was that of the antique Omega watch that belonged to my Mom and the concept was Time.
In September 2020, the
Anomalous Duo is challenging themselves to write a short piece of fiction for each collage — the Our Hours project.

Writer, visual artist, philosopher, autodidact, curmudgeon. More than half of what i do is make believe. https://alexanderhirka.nyc

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