The ticking of the clock
The ticking of the clock is louder than it ought to be in a home much like this one. In the meanwhile, I am waiting for her at the kitchen table, where I am using my thumb to trace the grain of the wood. It is the third time this week that she has been tardy. There is always an excuse for my sister, Mara, whether it be traffic, a short-notice errand, or the fact that her dog ate her phone. In response to that last one, I can't help but chuckle as I picture her golden dog, Max, chewing on electrical boards. Coffee that has been burned and rain from the previous day combine to create a musty odor that clings to the drapes in the room. From the outside, the streetlamp is flickering, and the shadows that are thrown through the window are jagged.
