Under Repair

This was his mother’s idea. She knew the girl from work, or maybe from one of the classes she took at the community centre, he couldn’t remember.

Pottery?

He guessed it didn’t really matter as he climbed the stair of her apartment building.

Knitting?

She’d buzzed him in and apologized the elevator wasn’t working. So he walked up to the fifth floor, arguing about this whole idea, almost thirty and getting set up by his mom. That had to be a strike against him.

Short stories?

His heart thumped heavily, and he wasn’t sure if it was nerves or exertion.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s