When I look again at the clock, hung up on the wall behind the counter, it’s already ten-fifteen. A quarter after closing time. With a sigh, I shut my eyes, shake my head. I get up from my chair, start across the floor. I weave in and out between the tables – a soapy sheen still clinging to their tops – each one stacked with chairs.

I hesitate as I approach the table in the corner, by the window. As dark as the room is now, it might normally have been hard to tell just who had been occupying the lone chair. But it just so happens, the same old man has been sitting in that exact spot, all afternoon. He comes to the café every day, as far as I can tell, and he always sat in that same table, same chair.

Never once has he sat somewhere else, although I suppose there would be no need. No one has ever thought to sit where he sits. Whether it’s by chance or some silent canon, it’s always there for him when he arrives.

Now, normally, I would never have had to deal with him. I would have gotten home about twenty minutes ago. I would just be getting undressed now, brushing my teeth and setting my alarm clock for yet another early day of work, work, work.

It’s only Thursday, after all – Friday’s still to come – and if I didn’t get the old man out now, it will be arriving far too soon.

Of course, the reason I never have to deal with him is because Bobby always takes care of it. After all, Bobby’s never let anyone close down. Not once.

Except, of course, for today.

See, Bobby has this knack for doing certain things at just the right time in your life to make everything worse.

It’s no fault of his, of course. It’s just the way it is.

Bobby’s daughter, by chance, swallowed a little rubber bouncy ball on a dare at school today. With no other option, he left closing to me. Normally, it would have been a great honor, but today is different.

I protested, at first. I’d never done it before and I didn’t want to start today. But Bobby insisted.