Voices
He impatiently watched the flashing red light. That also seemed to be taking a little longer than he liked. Finally, it went to the WALK sign. He moved to cross the street, raised a leg to step out...
Andrew Nash walked out of the café, full from his lunch. The queso on the beef enchiladas had been a little spicier than usual, but very filling. Now, though, he had to get back to work. The restaurant service was also a little slower than it normally had been. He ate there at least a couple of times a week, because it was the nearest restaurant to his job. Also, Mexican was his favorite food.
He stopped at the curb, waiting for the red hand to turn into a little white man so he could cross the street to walk the last half-block to return to work. He was a computer analyst, so no one would say anything just because he was a little late getting back. He put in plenty of overtime each week, which allowed him a little more freedom compared to the production control clerks who delivered his in-mail and grabbed up whatever he had going out. The OUT basket would be cleared since he’d left, but he was already dreading the mound of incoming stuff he’d have to sort through. Work piled up quickly.
He impatiently watched the flashing red light. That also seemed to be taking a little longer than he liked. Finally, it went to the WALK sign. He moved to cross the street, raised a leg to step out into the street.
A voice somewhere behind him and to the left said, Don’t.