Seven Minutes An old man stood at the bus stop, leaning on his cane. An oaken pole with a curved silver handle at the top. Every so often he would glance down at a phone.More Like This
Another man arrived at the bus stop, a suitcase in hand. He tapped his foot impatiently.
"Seven minutes" The old man said in a raspy voice, staring at the screen of his phone.
"What are you talking about?" He asked confusedly.
The old man smirked at him. "The bus should be here in about seven minutes. Why don't you calm down and talk a bit?"
"I have a business meeting in fifteen minutes, how can you expect me to be calm?" He glared at the old man.
The old man stared at him, with his chilling, colorless eyes. "Is that so? I have an appointment too." He looked at the phone. "In about six and a half minutes now."
The businessman scoffed. "Do you have a friend on the bus that you're waiting for?"
"I suppose you could say it like that." The old man said with a chuckle.