Week 1

My first lesson in living in San Francisco conveys the design of growing up. Well, that is: time. This acclimation is on account of the Municipal Transportation Agency. You see I've never relied on public transportation 'til now. Considering I've racked up nearly 110, 000 miles in 5 years, I have not been a necessary dependent, however, parking is mostly unreliable. Ahh, I digress! Back to this notion of time- I've signed my soul to the Master of time. Inbound, outbound, the sound of the rails as the subway cars whiz past my block. I've gotten quick to using my senses, and I can sprint in fine time. 8 hour days are now 10 hour days, my red lights are shared with passengers 'bow to 'bow. The occasional eye glance, the minimal conversation. Some are monotonously paid for their time, but the majority of us are colleagues. My body is in pain; it's my legs that are strengthening and I can see my skin like that too. Uphills, downhills, Avenues, and Streets. I've regarded as true the idea of making my bed daily as a maintainer of sanity. At work I have time, but I must choose whom to give it to wisely (my worth relies on it.) Time, time, time... I have no time for this, only an allotment for that. And all the while I should continue to let the minutes pass me by, to let the time build a character I know not yet. Goodbye Summer, your gracious days I'll miss.

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