I look at the clock and it’s 8 pm. I pull out Christopher’s card, and look it over.
Christopher Aigam followed by the number. That’s it, no job description, no logo, nothing that indicated anything else about him. I thumb at the corners of the card, until the edge cuts into the meat of my nailbed, and I stop.
What good would calling him do? Didn’t he have guests? I watch a woman nodding off the row of chairs to my right. Her hair is matted with sweat, and strangely enough, I came smell the fever coming off of her. I hope that they call her soon. I distract myself by watching the muted television for some time. I read the lips, make up the sco...
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