Cut the Line

The cable guy was three hours late, and Elias was watching a baseball game from 1998. It was one of those classic rain-delay replays — players standing on the field, tarp rolling across the diamond like a dark tide, the announcers filling time with stories about their own mediocre careers in the minors.

Elias should have been working. Instead, he was nursing a hangover and the hollow ache of another fight with Sarah. She'd left at dawn, taking the cat and her side of the closet. "I'm done running in circles," she'd said, which was rich — she was the one who'd installed a tracking app on his phone last year, claiming it was for safety.

The doorbell finally rang.

The cable technician was named Marcus, fresh out of prison if Elias had to guess — the kind of careful, neutral expression that comes from learning not to react to things. Marcus worked quickly, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he replaced the coaxial cable that had frayed where rats had gnawed through the insulation in the basement.

"Used to play," Marcus said suddenly, gesturing at the TV where the baseball game had resumed. "Third base. Junior college. Had a scout watching once."

"Yeah?"

"Blew my knee out sliding into home." Marcus shrugged, testing the connection. "That's all she wrote. Now I'm running cables for people who don't look me in the eye."

Elias laughed, surprising himself. "I was a pitcher. Freshman year of college. Thought I was going places."

"What happened?"

"Life happened." Elias gestured at the empty apartment, at the glass tumbler with two fingers of whiskey remaining on the coffee table. "Sometimes you're the guy throwing strikeouts. Sometimes you're the guy paying eighty dollars a month for cable you barely watch because the silence is worse."

Marcus packed up his tools. He looked at Elias, really looked at him, for the first time.

"My probation officer says I'm supposed to give you the customer satisfaction survey," Marcus said. "Says I need three positive reviews this month or they extend my community service."

"You fixed the cable. You showed up eventually. You told me a story about your knee." Elias finished his drink. "What's not to be satisfied about?"

Marcus smiled — a genuine thing that transformed his face. "You'd be surprised."

After he left, Elias turned off the TV. The silence wasn't so bad anymore. He stood up, found his running shoes buried in the back of the closet, and went outside. It was raining. He started running anyway.