I’m late. That’s all they need. Doors already closing. A clock with teeth. They look at my hands like they owe them time. I try to speak. They don’t wait for verbs. Only the headline: late. No questions. Just verdicts. Late. (Late.) They don’t ask why. Late. “Unreliable.” “Typical.” They throw the same words they learned from someone else. A shoulder hits mine. Not an accident. A small punishment for slowing the line. They don’t know what happened. They don’t want it. They want the world to stay on schedule. No story. Only status. Late. They don’t ask why. Late. I stand where I’m placed. I swallow the reason.
