I need to be there at five ten (17:10)

It won't be 'the worst' if I were to be late by a minute or so,

just disappointed looks and silent judgment.

Perhaps they won't even notice.


And anyway, five ten (17:10) is in five hours.

I need to be at the bus stop at five (17:00), it's a five, maybe eight, minutes drive and I should be there by five five (17:05) ,mybe five eight (17:08),

at any rate I'll be there before five ten (17:10).


It takes me ten minutes to get dressed so I better set my alarm to four thirty (16:30), just to be safe.


So now I have five hours to myself before I need to get ready.

I can watch tv on my computer, or bake cookies.

I have so much time!

...maybe not baking.


There are three more hours until my alarm rings.

Wait, did I set it right?

Yes.

Maybe I should give myself more time to organize, you never know what can happen!

Four twenty (16:20) it is.


It's two hours until I have to get ready and I keep glancing at the clock in the corner or my computer.

I'll just put on the clothes I need,

get out of the comfort of my pajamas, into my tight clothes.


The alarm rings

but I'm already dressed, my water bottle filled, my wallet in my purse, everything is where it should be.


I set my alarm again:

It's a minute or so of walking to the bus stop and I need to be there by five sharp (17:00).

I set my alarm to five minutes to five (16:55).


There's half an hour before I need to go.

The show is still running but I've stopped watching forever ago.

What if there won't be a bathroom there? I should go to the bathroom now.


Well that only took four minutes, I have twenty six more to burn.

I'm pacing in my room, the computer put away.

What if I'll need to *** there? Great now I need to *** again and I've already peed five minutes ago.


I better get going.


I've been waiting for the bus for ten minutes when the alarm rang.

Fifteen minutes of waiting for the bus in the scorching sun, wiping away sweat like drops of anxious thoughts, is fine.

It's normal, right?

I don't have time to worry about it.

It's better than the feeling of the stress on my skin, pushing on my organs until I suffocate.


It's five (17:00) and the bus still hasn't arrived.

It's fine.

It's FINE.

It's F I N E.


Two minutes later I'm sitting on the bus, waiting for my stop.

Chest heaving, I step back into the street, thanking the driver goodbye.


I don't see anyone.

This is where we're supposed to meet, right?

Yes, definitely.

It's today, right? This hour?

Yes and yes.


Oh,
I'm just the first one here.