He places the plate with his omelette across from me and sits down, lifting the chair slightly as he scoots in. He tells me her flight came in an hour ago. She hasn’t texted him anything. Steam purrs from the eggs as if trying to draw my attention to something important.
Midday
The room smelled like cumin bread. It was fresh from the bakery.
A three-quarter block walk from his apartment, which always felt too short―hardly qualifying as an excursion. Only far enough to be a purgatory, between the rest of the city and its domestic version.
Only so many things can have happened to you on a day where you remember buying cumin bread.
Ikea
“I need a chair. Just a chair. One chair. Just one,” blurted Dave.
“Well, we have Sven…” the worker was quickly interrupted.
“No no no! Not Sven. Just a chair for a desk. A simple chair. In and out.”
“Oh, well we have desk chairs in the bedroom section this way.” The worker began briskly walking off. Dave followed him out of fear of never being found again.
He was so close to getting the chair. The chair.
