He waited, noticing the empty apartment – humming refrigerator, creaking floor, hollow endless ticking. The clock squatted like a gargoyle, its plastic leer grotesque. He waited, chewing stale white bread until his throat was dry, like when the phone had rung and he knew. He longed to spit out the bread, turn back the dull navy clock hands. He waited. He needed her company, dreaded speaking words that would enforce reality.
When she came home, a little tired but content, he studied her honeyed hair. He learned her eyes, the blue summer sky. Then he said, “You’d better sit down.”