Story-A-Day #359: The Lot

THE LOT

He sits and he waits.  That what he does.  He has learned to be patient.  He has learned that sometimes the hollow ticking of a wall clock is the only company you will have during a long job.

He knows all this because this is what he does.  He sits and he waits.  His job is about moments in time, a single instance where seveeral pieces come into place and where one final action constitutes a job well done.  That moment has not yet come and while he knows it is looming fast, he is comfortable waiting.

That is his job.

He teached into the pack of sandwiched he brought with him and pulls one out, ham and swiss on ancient grains with a healthy dosage of hot mustard.  The mustard keeps his passages clear, a good idea in case things get suddenly heavy.

H gazes out the window at the parking lot below.  There are a handful of cars down there, and a core of people going about their daily business.  None of them are of any real connsequence though.  He only had eyes for one of the vehicles below, and even that will be of no real interest for at least a few more minutes.

The work day is winding day and in a few more ticks of the anxious clock, his job here will come to an end.

As if on cue, he notices the small figure scurry across the road below and into the parking lot.  The tiny figure crosses over the parking lot and steps up to the small white car.  It is time.

He quickly stands and gethers his small alottment of supplies for the day, cramming them all back into the briefcase.  The switch he leaves out, grabbing it right after he slid on his black leather grub and opened the door into the hallway.  He lets the door swing closed on its pneumatic hings and presses the button just before it closes.

He feels the building rock beneath him, a light tremor, as he strides quickly towards the end of the corridor.  He presses the button for the elevator and waits.  He is good at waiting.  It is what he does.