Life is like a suitcase

Life is like a suitcase - Every Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday....

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Every Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Each of these days he went to work. He arrived promptly at 7:56 each morning, having spent forty-five minutes on the train. During his time on the train he would sit and read the New York Times , while sipping cheap coffee-stand coffee. He liked this coffee better than the expensive kind- there was just something about sipping cheap coffee from a cardboard cup… The way he went through his paper was very methodical. He would first start with the headlines on each of the front pages of each of the sections. He would then check to see how whichever of his sports teams that was in season was doing. Then switch to world news (he felt he should be informed, but really this bored him). After skimming the rest of the paper for anything of interest Dan would take out his very expensive fountain pen (a gift from his wife, along with a nice leather briefcase, upon promotion) and start his Sudoku. Sudoku was so simple- all you had to do was organize the numbers; each had its correct place. As the train slowed to a stop he would look up surprised, stand up to push through the people so he might begin his race to work. He rushed, as quickly as possible without breaking into a jog, up the street to his building. The elevator was out of order; it had been for 7 months 23 days- he could feel the sweat building as he climbed the stairs- taking them two at a time. Upon arriving at the office he would sit at his desk, switch his computer on and glance at his Rolex watch- 7: 56, four minutes to spare, as always. Everyday at the office was grey. Nothing was good or bad, nothing was successful or unsuccessful- everything just was. Dan would sit there watching the clock tick, tick, tick away. He’d count the number of ticks between each number, not an anticipation of passing time, but merely to see if the clock was, in fact, correct. Dan just
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was. The ticks of the clock just were. Everything just was. This is how everything was day after day- time kept moving (he could tell b/c of counting the ticks and also the grey hairs that kept appearing on his scalp) but his life wasn’t moving. He had reached a standstill. On a Tuesday he got up after hitting the snooze button on his alarm four times, as he did every morning. He pulled back the forest green sheets, stood, and put on his K- mart slippers. He liked the color of his sheets, they reminded him of the dense forests of his childhood. It had always been an adventure to play hide-and-seek tag in those forests, or just to run through them- the trees whizzing past. He had felt so fast. Dan saw himself- a boy about ten, wearing blue jeans patched at the knees and a t-shirt with thick red and blue stripes (if you looked closely you could find the thin yellow stripe that appeared to ensure that the red and the blue did not intermingle). He had felt like an unstoppable force. The wind was whipping through hair (hair a bit overdue for its haircut). His sandy hair was a day overdue for a bath. His mother had given up on the
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Life is like a suitcase - Every Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday....

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