THE FINISH LINE

Copyright © 2025

All Rights Reserved

The other guy was almost done for the day, and Levy was almost ready to leave.

“Meet you?” Levy said.

“Why not?” the other guy said.

“At The Finish?” Levy said.

“Sure,” the other guy said.

Levy left the room. Levy came back into the room.

“Hey,” Levy said to the other guy. “Just get it done.”

Levy left the room again. The other guy went back to his cube, and Levy took a bite out of the sandwich that he would not finish that night. He sat down in his swivel chair, and he swiveled so that he could see all of the rows of empty cubicles in the room. He thought about drinking at The Finish Line, and about the other things that he would do when he was done.

He stopped swiveling. He looked at his watch.

She might be done with dinner by now.

He knew she ate dinner this late every night, with her family. He knew that she always left late, after dinner, for her work—that was why he had always called her this late, after everyone had finished.

He picked up the headset and held it in his hands, like he was weighing it. He held the headset by the curved rod and then he put it on his head and looked at his own reflection in the computer screen. He could see the cursor on the terminal screen pointing at the woman’s number and blinking.

He knew the woman’s number by heart, without looking. He hit the Enter key and now the woman was dialed.

It became a rhythm: Enter, dialtone, dialing, busy.

He figured the woman wanted to eat in peace, at home, with her family, with her phone off of the hook.

“Yeah?”

It was the woman, in his ear.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m calling —”

“I know why you’re calling,” the woman said. “Don’t you have no home to get to?”

“Your account—” he said.

“My account?” the woman said. “You owe me some, don't you, baby? You've been using up your time with me.”

He loosened his belt with both hands.

“Do me, baby,” the woman said. “ It’s your nickel.”