Mr Eleven O’Three sits in the same chair in the hotel lobby every day. He’s smartly dressed: suit, tie, kerchief in his breast pocket. An older gentleman.
“Can I help you?” we inquire. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“No, thank you.”
Mabel offers him coffee – “I think he’s lonely,” she says – but he politely refuses.
At precisely three minutes past eleven he nods goodbye and leaves.
We all have theories about him, some wilder and more ridiculous than others.
One morning, I decide to ask him why he comes.
That’s the day he doesn’t show.
We never see him again.
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A 100 word story written by Bruce Arbuckle, inspired by the random word prompt “lobby”
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