Limbo

The clock hands spun at random speeds. They watched for some amount of time: Dre’s beard grew and Debbie’s Afro pulled her scalp. There was a broken chair, cobblestones—no walls. Stacks of magazines lay underneath a lamp. Debbie saw the bulb was out when the clock spun the hundredth time. She couldn’t decipher the celebrities or the babies with faces cut by scissors. The chair hurt their bottoms with splinters if they sat. Standing, they held hands, watched the clock face spin. Eventually someone came, after the color of Dre’s beard faded and Debbie’s hair reached the floor.