Running (Late)

Written at a cafe in Chalon Sur Saone

I know it’s wrong. It’s very naughty. It goes against the rest of my family, especially my father and my sister. But the truth? I like the adrenelin rush of nearly missing the bus. I like running for the bus or train as it gasps, about to pull away. I like the heart pumping, sweat starting minor transgression of a near miss. I like to dash through red lights, swipe by chatty pedestrians. I like the damp at the base of my neck. I like the unknown. Will I make it? I like it when I do.

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