She was one minute late.
The crick in his neck was acting up again. He strained it, rolling his head around his shoulders.
He heard the door open, his head shot to the right to see who had entered.
The first half of his first cup of wine was gone.
The cup was still half full.
He decided not to drink anymore until she got here. He was a lightweight, that was for sure. He didn’t want to embarrass himself.
She was running late, she knew that.
She hadn’t meant to, her boss had just kept her longer than expected.
Walking at an accelerated pace, she turned into an alley, and was met by a man with a knife and a smile.
He gazed at the half empty cup of wine in his hand.
He took another sip, a small one.
She wasn’t going to come, he knew this. But he stayed.
He stayed just in case she did.
He got up and left.
This was the third time he’d been stood up on a date.
It was apparent that nobody enjoyed his company.
Unlike him, the noose he’d prepared found company that night.