June 4, 2008

Up above the street, I glimpse clocks, monitoring my hurried steps between one corner of Broadway and another. It is approximately 900 seconds between home and office, between new apartment building and former furniture store, along streets lined with graffiti.

Time towers higher than I’ve ever seen it here, so much closer to that orange setting sun than I would have imagined. The clocks pull me as if they have strings dangling from their hands. “Beat this,” they say. “Beat this.”

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