“Will that be cash, credit or memories?” Her smooth lips forming the words, her eyes portraying indifference.

Unable to counteract, his head rose to meet her at eye level, acknowledging her presence. “Wait, wait, sorry what?”

Receptionists were short tempered at the best of times, and these certainly weren’t them. “Sir, will that be cash, or credit?”

Utterly confused, staring blankly at a nurse young enough to be his daughter, he replied. “Sorry, I thought you asked something else, cash please.”

“They all do, take a seat.” The receptionist gestured toward a full half dozen row of blue chairs, each with a story to tell.

Sitting down on the single worn out chair that was available, Doug started to roll over the days events, and just how they lead to this. Time passed at the sound of nails on a chalkboard: 3:05, 5:30, 7:45. Doug knew he was to blame, couldn’t help it. Waking up, preparing for a meeting with the board, oblivious to his surroundings. Until the coffee was spilt, and the cliché was unleashed, leading to the inevitable downfall of his morning routine; curb water splashing from cars, missing his bus to work, and an angry taxi driver.

Getting in that taxi, Doug became unaware of the consequences that the injustice in his behaviour toward other people could bring, and as the taxi pulled up to his 42 storey office, Doug made a gesture for the door.

Seemingly annoyed and unimpressed the taxi driver questioned. “Are you not going to say goodbye, rude American.”

Doug noticed a Russian accent, and nothing else. “Yeah whatever, I’m late, see you later.” Before Doug reached the first step up to his work, his face became perturbed by an intrusive hand, offering itself out.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m late, please go away.” Walking around the driver, putting the scene down to lack of experience within the city, Doug made his way up the stairs and reached the top, just in time to see the gun unload its bullets.

Sitting in that room, on that one blue chair, waiting for someone to walk through the bright white doors, surrounded by more blank walls, he realised where he was.

He hadn’t misheard the receptionist, and he couldn’t remember how he got there. Noticing a set of blue leaflets, set down next to the colour coordinated chairs, he read the title. “Welcome to purgatory, enjoy your stay.”

Surprisingly unsurprised, Doug intriguingly opened the leaflet, to find the pages blank. Hours passed on the clock that he’d come to acknowledge as useless, and as he waited, and waited for something to happen, one thought remained.

“He should have shaken the man’s hand.”