It wasn't Godot's number. It was a name. Someone from his old office he wasn't close enough to in order to memorize the number like he had with Godot. One thing he didn't do was pick up the phone unless he had gotten his daily call with Godot in. So he allowed the incoming call to die naturally so that the other side didn't think it was an active rejection.
Then he went to text the old coworker when he wondered, why the hell he hadn't texted him first. Why call out of the blue like this? Doug hadn't heard from him in months. Almost a year actually. Something around there.
time
was flying by at a unmangeable speed now that he hadn't worked for longer than a month. The rate at which it past seemed to be speeding up. He had to find a job. Not for the money. He was good on that. But to slow this passing of time from going. Soon he would be dead he thought. Like that guy in the film last night.
The phone rang again. Doug realized he never texted the coworker. Felt annoyed and looked down to see it was the coworker calling again.
"Get a grip, prick!" he yelled into the phone. Then he rejected the call and texted.
"Busy. What's up?"
There, he thought. Bounced around while circling the living room a few times before sitting down. There he bounced his leg some more. Drunk some more coffee, regrettably. Finally gave up and opened the laptop. Went back to the document and began to write.
In the center of the city, there's a cafe that nobody knows about. How does it stay in business then? It does because there's a group of regulars. They leave large tips. And they never write about it on the internet. Nobody from the
reddit
or yelp sphere would have a reason to enter this part of the city. They're too busy, distracted with other 'attractions'. At this cafe there's a man who reads a cloth book. While sipping black tea in the morning, white tea in the day. And rooibos at night.
