Suede Patches

Suede Patches, By A.C. Forrester
Word Count: 407


The subway car came to an abrupt halt, the brakes squealing in protest as their temperature rose. Professor Becker leaned against the warm air-intake vent and sighed. He was going to be late for his seminar once again. Rarely did he make it on time. The typical delay was related to his befuddlement in locking his front door each morning. On this particular September day, he had manipulated the deadbolt with ease.

The stationary vehicle lurched forward and continued its subterranean trek through the narrow tubes under Philadelphia. Perhaps the professor would not be late after all. It’s not as if it matters, he thought to himself. Very few of his students paid close attention to his lectures; most deciding instead to play Solitaire or Freecell or Minesweeper or some other minimally stimulating game that came preinstalled on the laptops their parents had bought for them.

The professor exited the subway car and turned left. A homeless man, jingling a Wendy’s cup full of change, sat dejected in front of the heavy, metal double-doors leading to the escalators. Becker instinctively held his satchel close to his chest, fearing the legless man would leap up and accost him with a fistful of pennies.

Unmolested, Professor Becker stood on the moving stairs and waited for his inevitable arrival two floors up. A housefly landed on the left arm of his gabardine sport coat. With a spastic swing of his arm, he managed to dislodge the unwanted insect and knock an overpriced espresso drink from the hands of an unsuspecting businessman onto the adjacent staircase.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Professor Becker said. “You see, a fly landed on the left arm of my sport coat. And in my fervent desire to rid myself of this vexation, I violently jerked my arm. In the process, I knocked the drink out of your hand.”

“Um, okay,” the businessman answered, wiping his arm with a napkin.

“I have a strange phobia of insects. I also fear crowds, loud noises and yogurt with fruit mixed in. I suspect that the fear of the fruity yogurt is closely linked to my fear of insects, as I am petrified that the strawberry into which I am biting will in fact turn out to be a roach.”

The businessman sprinted the remainder of the way up the escalator.

“My, my,” the professor said, to nobody in particular. “This is turning out to be an interesting day.”