Almost an Evening
WAITING
A drab waiting room.
Mr. Nelson, in a suit, sits waiting.
A high counter separates him from a receptionist who sits with her back to us. She types.
And types.
Mr. Nelson clears his throat.
He glances at his watch.
He looks around, reaches into his jacket.
Without looking up from her typing (nor will she ever):
Receptionist: No smoking.
Nelson's hand freezes, then slowly emerges from his jacket, empty.
He looks around.
He looks at his watch.
He glances down at the side table next to him, picks up the two magazines displayed there, looks from one to the other.
Nelson: Are there any other magazines?
Receptionist: No.
He looks at the first magazine.
Nelson: Highlights for Children.
The receptionist continues typing.
He looks at the second magazine.
Nelson: U.S. News & World Report.
The receptionist continues typing.
He squints at the second magazine.
Nelson: Last April.
The receptionist yanks the sheet out of her typewriter. She briefly proofs it against a laminated reference sheet before inserting a new piece of paper and resuming typing.
Mr. Nelson puts down the magazines.
He looks a ...
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