A Surprisingly Quick Sit and Wait

I have a few minutes, i don't know exactly how many, to write something. This something will exist, in some form, at some size. I don't know any of its attributes.

I feel in a hurry. I really don't have much time. But I also have all the time. I could continue writing this after my time runs out. I could even start writing this after my time has run out.

In fact, my time isn't really running out. It's just stationary time. Liminal time. There is a situation.

The situation is that I am sitting outside of my apartment door. I am sitting on this floor, which I am hoping is clean enough, and waiting. I am wearing work clothes. I have a bag of stuff. I have a small bag of rubbish. I don't have a door key.

I am waiting for the key. I am waiting for my girlfriend. I am waiting for my girlfriend who has the key.

I was just called by my girlfriend who has the key. (note: I do not have another girlfriend.). She is waiting for me. I must go to the shop and meet her there. Love is sometimes waiting.