Your Unfinished Future

The last door closes behind you without hurry.

You leave here with a conversation waiting for you further on, with a line still open behind you, and advised in advance by someone who writes like you. You also go out with one Thursday already rearranged.

The Counterfactual Communications Boom keeps your line open. Somewhere a receiver is warm, and nobody in that kitchen has hung up.

The Civic Time Expansion Era expects you back. It is still holding a day with your name on it and no year to put it in.

The lights go down one room at a time, in the order you walked them.