Up in the office block. Briefcase? To the top floor to get something that’s mine, while the boss is not around. Was that a sound, is he here? To get away, go out and back to the past.
The woman in a big dress tags along with the others. I wish she wouldn’t. At last she has drifted away, I can see her float down the landings. This building is mostly glass.
There’s nobody else on the stairs or in the corridors in this block. I wonder if there is anyone inside behind some of the doors, as we reach the end of the corridor where my apartment is. The others are still just behind.
The apartment is modern, spacious, open plan, minimal. There is a small saucepan sizzling on the electric hob. Further on in, another identical little saucepan, steaming, boiling. And there’s another one ahead on the next worktop too.
I realise that no one else I know is here, no one else can be here, because this is the past and they’ve all gone. Everyone else is in the future.
But the ones who tagged along came into the apartment behind me. I point at them. My speech is feeble, so I strain to raise it, but it’s rough and fluctuates. I say, “You are in the twilight zone.”