The sun sparkles on grimy windows that have never been washed, not for as long as I've been here. The soft murmur from the highway mingles with the comfortable clatter of dishes and utensils from the kitchen next door. Air, clear and cold, washes through the open window in waves. Another Monday at the office.

In a few minutes, there's a management meeting, and those meetings usually last for a few hours. Mondays feel amputated; a day chopped in half by the lingering sense of weekend-time in the morning, long meetings in the afternoon, and reluctant work-outs at night. Dinner, then, is usually the victim of lethargy. Frozen pizzas or, if I'm lucky, left-overs from my Mom's Sunday dinners.

Time to run.  ¶ 12:52