Five more minutes. Five more minutes and he'd have twenty dollars and get to use the good bike all month.
He crouched under the table and stared at his red plastic watch. It was dark but since he had been there for ten minutes already, he could make out the clock.
He sat down and heard the wood creak under him. It smelt like the winter coats you keep in the basement all summer long. That and rotten peaches.
A bead of sweat ran down his forehead which surprised him—it was a chilly night. The sweat started to migrate upwards and he realized it was an insect on his face.
He began to slap his own head as he felt more bugs crawling over him. In a panic he ran out from under the table, but not before smashing his shoulder into the chair leg.
He stumbled around with his hands windmilling slaps to his head and alternating with clutching his hurt shoulder. All with a steady soundtrack of a prepubscent shriek.
The bathroom. He could look in the mirror and splash water on his face. He threw the door open. The mirror was covered in carboard paper. The sink wasn't working.
Two more minutes.