Day Seven

10/10/85

He kept working at the company's account register, until eleven. Most of the floors on the building were obscure and silent, and not even the janitor was making his cleaning rounds. Outside the windows, the city showed its obscure and mysterious face, full of shinny eyes.He drank his last sip of coffee, while the bright screen, showing numbers and addresses trapped inside Excel's cells, was killing his sight. He yawned and looked at the time in the computer. No way. He checked his watch, and it was true: 23:15. He doubted before turning off the computer and stepping out of the office. He knew how to walk a dark labyrinth of tables and chairs; it wasn't the first time he done it. He stepped on the elevator, asking himself if it was possible to finish all paper work by tomorrow morning, while the other employees where still at bed. He was asking himself about taking another coffee at the machine before heading home, or to better avoid caffeine before bed. He thought about jugging to the office tomorrow. He wondered why not doing half of the twenty pages account left on his home PC, before sleep –or not sleeping at all-, but why?

He was a great employee, that was for sure. A "good worker"; an early-bird; a trustful man. But that was it, no more than just a few happy tags. No extra cash, not an extra holiday's week, not a big house in Baltimore, no friends, no life. Just one slap on the shoulder and a smile from Michael, his boss: "You truly earn your bread!" What that even means? If he was the only one worthy, why he feels exactly like everybody else? Does Michael even know his favorite employee's name? Maybe not. If you are good and keep it on line, nobody will call your attention, but nobody will notice you either. But he didn't want to be famous. It's just that, after a long time, working in the same place for almost the same salary, some questions arise. Did really worth it?

It was too much to think for one night. He saw a hot bath, a really late meal and some sleep on his future. There was not room for anything else, really.

At the lobby, he bought an orange soda from the vending machine. Ralph, the security guy waved him goodbye, while reading the sports magazine under the desk.

Outside, the night was terrible dark. He checked his watch again. It was 23:34. Neither too early nor too late for anything. The heavy air of October embraced him. He glanced at the empty void over Manhattan, and walked his way to the subway.

Waiting on the station, there were a shady guy on a hood and an old man reading the newspaper. The late night society. On a corner, a fat woman with grey hair was ringing a bell and saying something nobody could hear. He got near the woman and threw some change on the plastic cup before her. The woman has a cardboard over her chest, with the words "THE END TIME IS NEER" handwritten on it. When the coins fell on the little cup, the woman ringed the bell.

"Sir, you accept Jesus as your Lord and savior?" asked the woman, with a Latin accent.

"Mmm, I guest"

"You better repent for your sins, cause the end time is soon" she said. "Only those pure of soul would enter the paradise!"

The end-of-times, you mean, he thought. He just walked away, while the woman kept barking things only Jesus could understand.

After ten minutes, a strong white light was visible at the end of the tunnel, and the heavy rolling of metal wheels resounded on the station. The train arrived, with its typical metal chirring. The metal surface of its sections was dressed in poorly crafted graffiti, which in some cases covered even the windows. The doors opened and everybody got inside.

He felt alone in the empty car of the train. He sat and saw the dirty walls passing the window.

"Sorry to bother."

He looks up. There was a young woman at his left. He didn't see her approach.

"Do you know if this train goes to 59th Street?"

"59th Street?" he asked, surprised. "Hum, yes. Just a couple stops ahead."