The shelter coordinator took the folding chairs outside because the promised vehicles needed a clear loading lane. Her name was Anet. She had arranged the chairs herself after the driver confirmed he could secure them behind the passengers. Now they stood in a row under the covered entrance, occupied by people who could not wait comfortably on their feet.
The vehicles were late.
At first the delay seemed manageable. A road barrier had moved twice that afternoon. Every driver in the district had a story about an approach that looked clear until someone reached the corner. Anet sent a volunteer to keep the loading lane empty and called the number on her dispatch sheet.
“Unit delayed,” the answer came. “Seeking an update.”
“Is it on the road to us?”
“I don’t have current location.”
She wrote the reply beside the promised interval. A woman in the nearest chair asked whether that meant another ten minutes. Anet said she did not know. The woman pulled her coat around her shoulders and stopped her grandson from carrying their bag into the lane.
Inside, a volunteer was drawing arrows to the entrance. Anet asked him to leave the old direction sign standing until they had a vehicle in sight. If their departure changed again, she did not want people with poor hearing following the newest arrow into an empty street.
