Bubbles of ochre light from the autostrada had become too invasive to ignore. Epson Moore recognised that this was one of those mornings when rolling over and faceplanting in the cushion was not an option. The schedule for the day was vague, since the term timetable had been… lost, changed, reprogrammed, eaten?
There were almost certainly classes today. Whatever else Moore had neglected to recall, the set of courses remained clear in their mind: English, Arithmetic and Anxiety. Moore would have regretted signing up for Anxiety if there had been a point of access, or maybe choice, where any of this could have been altered.
“Bae must know,” they uttered into the cold air.
An autobus, a streetcar, three flights of stairs, one of them cobbled, which had probably seemed romantic at some earlier stage. Excuses to unwaged street occupants that there were no coins in the wallet. Actually true, but Moore felt no better about this alibi.
There was a queue at the front desk. The ticketing system had imploded. “Amazing!” a rugger frat-kid announced. “Jim-Bob was there when it sucked itself in. Two chicks got pulled inside.” Moore suspended judgement, the need to acquire a replacement timetable overrode all sensational distractions. Maybe.
Sooner than expected they had reached the front desk. Their problem wasn’t difficult in itself, but the resolution was more labyrinthine than they had assumed. “We can fax a fresh copy of the timetable to you. Can we have a look at your access card?” There was some tapping on the terminal’s keyboard. “We don’t have a fax number in the database for you.”
Epson Moore started despondently to step away. Then a thought occurred. Someone else had stepped up to front desk, but in an uncharacteristic moment they reasserted themself. “Bae has a fax machine. Can I give you Bae’s number?”
They checked their wallet. No coins for the phone. They could buy a Struggle bar from the refectory and pay with a note, call Bae and hope that she had readable ribbon in her fax. Moore checked the time: 8:48. The Anxiety class couldn’t be starting earlier than nine.
Or maybe it was English, whatever that involved.