Habit

13757688486s53m

January MorgueFile 13757688486s53m

Alan adjusted his mask and took the tray from the back of his van.  It was his twentieth delivery for the day.  As he approached the elevator he took out an antiseptic wipe and cleaned the button before pressing it.  He then made his way to the seventeenth floor.  He used the corner of the tray to tap on the door of 1703 and then stepped back.  A glimmer of light appeared briefly through the peephole and the door opened.  He slid the tray towards the customer and stepped back again.

“Mr Patel?” Alan asked.

“Yes, yes,” the man replied as he removed the grocery items from tray.

Alan pressed the Delivered button on his handset as the man pushed a small zip lock bag with a small tip in it towards Alan with a broom handle.

“Thank you very much,” Alan said as he drew out another wipe and cleaned the bag thoroughly before putting it at the far side of his tray.

Alan wondered how many times he had gone through the same process since back in ’20.  The “crisis” of course had been declared over eighteen months before, but no one seemed to be taking any chances.

(198 words)

Padre

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