"Ah come on!"
"I'm sorry, its 5pm."
I lifted my watch and held it up to the camera, the digital face showing 4.57pm.
The security guard just bunched his shoulders and stared at me from far inside the closed office building. His voice came over the speaker.
"Five o'clock on my watch bud. Come back tomorrow."
"I can't! This says urgent! Its meant to be delivered no matter what! Can't you ring their office and ask if they're still there?"
"Nope. Not today."
My radio crackled. "Billy? 21 Billy? Delivered that last one yet?"
"21 to base," I replied, "security goon won't let me in. Can you ring the addressee? Monkey Wrench Motorsports. Fourth floor."
"Will do. Stand by."
I knew it would take a few minutes so I broke out my works box from the satchel on my back. The old timber box with skins and Amber Leaf and an old rolley machine. It had been everywhere with me. And now New York's East Side. I thought about the toothless old man of indeterminable age who sold it to me. I wish I was back in Thailand now, not inhaling cheap smoke on the side of an anonymous street in cold November. I knew it could be worse.
A minute later I exhaled into the face of an apologetic security guard.
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