Twenty Seconds

Management’s picture was twenty seconds behind the man across the courtyard. He cheered while our ball was still in midfield.

At half-time we asked whether he could wait.

“Before cheering?”

“Only twenty seconds.”

“I’ll try.”

He lifted his window another inch. His shirt was stuck to his back.

We put on headphones. He stood up. We could not hear him, but we could see his arms.

We drew the curtains. When our forward got the ball, we opened them a little. He was sitting down again.

“Don’t tell us,” we called, uncovering one ear.

“I haven’t said anything.”

We covered it again and shut the curtains. For a minute we watched the match.

The crowd in our headphones got louder. We took them off and parted the curtains.

Across the courtyard, the man leaned towards his screen.

We paused ours.

He reached for his glass. We leaned forward.