Time ticked on. He reached into his pocket, nothing. Sweat beaded. He checked again, nil. Frantically, he locked eyes with the nearest linesperson. They didn't speak the same language, but panic is universal. As he ran by, she reached out and discreetly pressed a whistle into his hand. Tweeeeeet!
Abiola writes poetry, fiction, and essays, and spends entirely way too much time going down ‘90s pop culture rabbit holes.