As Cerovečki was waiting for the thin drip of the espresso machine to end, content and emboldened, as he is every morning, by the scent of first coffee, the news was already in the air, the news was already sailing around the world and becoming reality. The news at hand would bring about the doom of the Ofset printing company manager, whose body was toppled to the office floor by a heart attack that same Tuesday, never to rise again. For that reason we will start this tale, which differs from what really happened in but a few details, with a motif that makes it plausible, something that, were it not here, would make the tale nothing but a theoretical possibility of syntactic variations of language and reality.
The working day at the printing office started at 5:45, though office hours started at 6. The introductory fifteen minute period was used by the women working at the office to have their first coffee in the factory floor hallway. The hallway, whose doors could only be opened from the inside, the factory floor side (which kept the workers perpetually wary), contained no more than a coffee machine and tin, uncomfortable, but practical stairs, usually used by the workers to sit, flicking their cigarette ash earthworms into plastic coffee cups. The mornings were normally spent retelling their respective commutes; often it so happened that the ones living further away arrived sooner, which caused the ones living closer to gripe, blaming the poor infrastructure on the city government, claiming things such as not enough bridges and great need for widening the loop on the eastern city entrance, while those living further away, but arriving sooner, praised the practical solutions of the city’s traffic experts. Those without cars living far away had it the worst; if they weren’t clever, charming or resourceful enough to arrange transportation with a colleague living close by or a neighbor working in the same part of town, they had to be up at around 4.
„To wait till we can no longer wait“. Syd was not exactly a patient man, though at one point he did come to the conclusion he needs to practice patience and discipline. Discipline could somehow be managed, but patience, that was a matter of personality. Fuckit, some things we just don’t have time for. Like now, for example: he was sitting in an armchair, slowly feeling himself sinking into a hole, as if the object was eating him. This shit is about to kick in and she better have some sort of plan. Besides, she clearly said she would buy, she needs it for tomorrow, but they can have some fun too, she has no special plans for tonight. Syd wasn’t difficult to get on board and always had one in the chamber. Fuck, the dude had a whole clip; he treated his body like as a dumpster, but he had enough to swallow in his lifetime so his organism was used to it. His eyes became more light sensitive, his jaw would sometimes develop a mind of its own, but nothing serious.
He ate half before climbing up to the apartment, wanted to be in the zone. Tried remembering her name, but nothing but her nickname resonated in his head – Bell. Could’ve been Annabell, or Michelle, or something else, he had no idea. When they met they didn’t do much talking. Syd spent a number of his nights in basements, sometimes with buddies, sometimes by himself. When he saw her, he whispered to Matt they should push their way up front. He didn’t say a word, just stood in front of her, just like now, a bit too close, staring at her dilated pupils. Some kind of soft trance music was bouncing around his brain, the morning kind, just before closing time at Funk, his body was saying day broke already and the sun was outside to meet him, and he just kept stretching and looking at her cute bangs and naked shoulders. Bell would later admit their encounter had been intimidating, but she liked it – it’s not often you see guys stretching their hands to touch the ceiling at parties, but it kinda looked good on him.