By eight the domino shop had set out a row of matchstick benches along the counter, one for each tile still waiting in the box. The shopkeeper tapped the lid as if calling a class to order. "They sit first," she said. "Then they nod to the neighbor. Only then may they become a row, and only one."
We asked a man by the kiosk, who had come in for a set and stayed to watch the seating. "I used to stand them up all at once," he said. "They looked brave. They also looked tired." A note in the thank-you book added, in careful pencil: "The last tile felt greeted. Please keep the benches."
The next morning the same man came back with a spare napkin for the end of the line. He said the tiles had sat, the neighbor had been nodded to, and one little bench was still empty at the corner, as if it hoped a stray five might arrive for tea.