Now in the part of the day,

right over the 4PM wall, where it moves slower than the hours preceding.  Just passing the time by typing short page struts like this, breathing, and scribbling singular words in the Comp book.  Travel… travel…  all I’m thinking about.  Writing in my holstered journal about some street I’ve never seen.  Writing all of it.. each second and step, each wall and streetlight, each sound and meal, brief breeze and birds overhead gliding over rocks and a bay (for some reason I imagine Greece, or that part of Italy my sister showed, short video clip of her friends relaxing on extended chairs on a veranda).  I put myself there, to avoid the sluggish seal pace of time here.  Funny how that works, how we writers are even creative with our avoidance methods.