For seven days, Arthur occupied the bench across the street. He arrived before I did and stayed until I locked the clinic at night.
He never approached me, even when I caught him watching each patient leave and had to fight the urge to close the blinds. I hated how often I checked whether he was still there.
The town noticed. Mrs. Gable brought me a casserole and called him my dangerous ex-stalker. The bakery owner began leaving coffee beside him each morning.
Arthur never touched it. People started calling him the Sad Man in the Suit.
On the third day, he crossed the street at exactly 9 a.m. My hand went to the lock, but he stopped at the plastic take-a-number dispenser outside. He pulled one ticket and returned to the bench.
He did the same thing every morning after that. Each unuse
