Please Hold
him. Richard painfully walked a step behind her to avoid further interaction as they headed for the elevator. After exiting the elevator, Richard strode to the intended stall and proceeded to an ordering machine and paid with a tap of his card. He stood back and observed the stall; the place was desolate and silent. Years ago, there would have been a crowd of customers, with workers serving them. But now, with the danger of the virus, it was safer to have ordering machines. In fact, it didn’t look like anyone was taking care of the stall at all, if it wasn’t for a huge screen displaying numbers and a flap in which the food was pushed through, not unlike pet doors. For sanitary purposes, the food was prepared behind a blank wall — not a person was in sight. Richard felt a pang but brushed it aside. The digits on the screen matched Richard’s receipt number and a brown package was pushed through the flap. Richard promptly took the package and within minutes, was back inside his apartment. In his haste, he knocked over a photo frame and the sound of glass breaking pierced his ears. Richard turned back and froze when he realised what had broken. Gingerly, he picked up the photograph from the floor. It was a picture of his family: his parents sitting at the centre, his two sisters and himself standing behind them. They were beaming for the camera because no one could have predicted what would happen.
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