The waiting room was too bright for this early in the morning, fluorescent lights humming above the cracked plastic chairs. I sat on the far side, the fabric of my coat frayed at the cuffs, and my shoes scuffed more than I cared to count. The small paper cup of lukewarm coffee trembled slightly in my hand as I waited for the manager to show up. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second stretching out longer than the last. It was past nine, and I’d been here since eight-thirty, no real reason other than I needed to see him face-to-face.
When he finally appeared, he didn’t bother with a greeting. His eyes scanned me quickly, his mouth twitching into a smirk that someone might call a laugh, sharp and cold. “You’re late,” he said, though I was the one who had been waiting. He looked me up and down, his gaze narrowing on my threadbare sleeves and the faded scarf wrapped loosely around my neck. “I don’t have time for beggars,” he said, voice low but unmistakable. “Get out of my sight.”
There was no civility, no hesitation. Just a shove of air like I was some nuisance to be brushed away. I didn’t answer. Didn’t correct him. The most dangerous thing I could do was make him interested in me, or waste more time proving who I was. Instead, I stood quietly and slid my chair back. The scrape against the floor was the only sound I made as I moved toward the door.
