A commuter does not look out of the window with much interest. Smith, leaving Miami for New York, where Jordan worked. It would be all right. The apartment, the pieces of furniture, pots and pans, and the girl there, happy with it. It would be all right. Jordan is a good provider. In New York it was too warm and the sky slate-colored with rain hanging there. By the time Jordan got out of the taxi in town he felt wet under his shirt and his palms were wet. He also felt a stiffness in his neck. He watched the taxi drive down the street and hated the sight of the street and the car leaving. He went into the drugstore but stopped on the way to the telephone booths to sit down at the counter. He looked at the booths every so often and drank a large glass of orange juice. Then he went to the back and placed his call. His neck hurt with a slight stiffness and the phone was slippery in his palms. Maybe he isn’t in. No. He’ll be in. This isn’t Wednesday afternoon. Tomorrow is Wednesday. He listened for the ring and felt nervous thinking about things that did not matter.
