Late as Always

Our teacher assigned us a writing prompt in which we needed to create a story around the items and facial expressions of those going through the turnstile in the New York subway, as photographed by Bill Smith. The link to his project, where my photo is from is here


Bill had been becoming increasingly senile. Not only does he lack the work ethic and energy that he had when I hired him, but he makes excuses for his actions.

Today Bill stumbles into work three hours late. Panting and gasping for air, he starts telling me his reasons for being so late. "Steve...Steve... I was late because..."
"I don't want to hear any more excuses Bill! I've had enough
with your horse crap."
"But Steve," he pleaded, "this time is serious!" Hearing his pleas, I agreed to listen to his story.

Bill had woken up early (I was already skeptical of the story at this point). He got his paper outside when he noticed that his house was starting to sink. At the very moment he started inspecting the house it started to rain. He quickly ran inside for his umbrella and noticed that he needed to hurry up to get to work. He quickly grabbed a piece of toast and stuck the paper in his pocket, for reading on the subway. On his way to the subway, he remembered that he had put his laundry in the cleaners, as such, he needed to obtain it because the laundromat charges extra if the clothes are left there.

He reversed directions and made his way through the crowd, only to find that the laundromat was closed. He noticed a small child playing in the street, and asked him what he was doing. He saw that the kid was playing with something with a blinking red light. Bill thought that the kid was cute and went to go tell him to get out of the street. As he was walking over, he suddenly realized what was blinking. He did a complete 180 degree turn, and started running in the other direction. As he heard a large bang behind him, he was thrown to the ground. He then went back to find the police interrogating him, asking him why he was there and what his affliation with the kid was. Bill nervously answered the question while he got on the subway.

The subway was an adventure in itself. When Bill got on the subway, so did the same kid that he saw before. Bill was so confused and scared that he ran away, only to find the kid following him. He ran away hurriedly. Quickly, he realized the kid wanted something with him, so he turned around to the kid holding his dry cleaning. "What the..." Bill started, but the kid interrupted with "you're welcome," only to turn around and walk away. His brow covered in sweat, Bill sat on the train and let it take him to work. He needed to switch from the B train to the F train, so he needed to get off at the next stop. As he got off the subway, he noticed that the bus he usually takes just left, and he had to wait for the next bus to come in fifteen minutes. After he got off the bus, he noticed that he caught every red light on the way to work, only to run into the same kid. As he got to the front doors of the office, he asked the kid, "Who are you?" The kid simply smiles, and replied, "You'll never know."

I simply shrugged Bill's story off, "next time you're late, Bill, just call and tell us." As I sat down at the couch in the worker's lounge and watched the news story about the terrorist attack near B street, I murmered to myself, "I wish I were paid every time I heard one of his stories."