Well, it would never do that he’d missed the train. She wouldn’t understand at all. Mariam was not the understanding kind. Particularly if she were inconvenienced. He sat on a bench on the platform for a long while, feeling the weight of her impending criticism descend upon him. It was so familiar, the sense of letting her down and being schooled about it, that it was almost as if he were already there with her. Their humid little kitchen would smell of Dawn and pork chop grease, her back would be to him as she washed the dishes at nearly the speed of light.
Mariam was quick at everything she did, but when she was angry, another kind of fuel kicked in to keep her jets lit high. He could gauge her irritation by the time it took her to fold laundry or sort the bills and pay them.
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