MOMENTS

He bent down under the table to wedge it; for a couple of days, it had been wobbling erratically, and feeling this springiness, this lack of firmness, when sitting down to eat, caused an inner anger that made him eat in a bad mood. At certain bites, he would forget, forget those small but important details.

He left his house in a hurry; he had fifteen minutes before starting work at his office, which, although it was a few blocks from his house, was in the middle of the city center where any eventuality could occur. One day, a child ran through a puddle, splashing his only clean white shirt, and he had to miss work because he couldn't go in another shirt. On another occasion, a demonstration blocked the entire street, and he couldn't get through, arriving thirty minutes late, and his superior publicly criticized him for being irresponsible. The offices were on the 32nd floor, so elevator eventualities also happened, so those fifteen minutes could feel like five or six at most. He walked quickly but cautiously so as not to sweat too much and keep his clothes impeccable, overcoming various obstacles, people, cars, thoughts, emotions, memories, one above all, where he and a woman at a table looked into each other's eyes, from end to end, the table about three meters long, he with a beer, she with a martini, they looked at each other without saying a word, she tried to tell him something with a particular look, he tried to read her lips, he leaned a little too much with his arm and the table wobbled, the beer bottle was about to fall, he quickly caught it, that instant was enough for the woman to be gone, she vanished and although he tried to look for her, he couldn't find her, he regretted if this memory was real or just an invention, he arrived at his desk and in front of him an empty photo frame, it had been like that for about six months, a past ceased to be present and for some reason he threw away the photo, but not the frame, so he kept looking at it every day, just in time to clock in at the right time, the computer had been malfunctioning lately and he decided not to report it so on this particular day it suddenly stopped working, he crouched down to check connections or if something could happen by senselessly checking the CPU, he noticed a piece of paper balancing the desk and it caught his attention to take it out because it seemed to have something written on it, when he removed it the desk became unbalanced and the glass photo frame fell sharply to the floor breaking into more than twenty pieces, he inhaled and exhaled deeply, his somewhat watery eyes attracted attention, he stood for a few seconds looking at the scene, he left that paper on the floor, and picked up what was left, those memories, those experiences, those longings should, without a doubt, be thrown in the trash, otherwise, they could cut someone who passed carelessly, he smiled slightly realizing how a memory could open wounds if looked at again and again, at the end of the day he remembered the paper, picked it up and took it to his briefcase, he stopped for his frequent flat white at the coffee shop on the corner of the building, leaned back and sighed, opened the briefcase and took out the paper, unfolded it and spread it with both hands, one word was written, INSTANT 

He stared at it intently while drinking his coffee, and stayed there, remembering all those small but important details. 

He wedged his home table with that paper, leaving that table firm, balanced, present,  ready for the next instant.