Late

There is no way for me to find out how late exactly I am. My phone battery died some time ago and the last Time I saw, was on the big clock in the attic. 8:05 - that means late. The problem with late is that there are multiple stages to late.

I'm on my bike, my thighs are burning with the nice buzz of trying your best on a bike that's a little too heavy. I'm paddling through different streets letting myself believe that I can find better paths than the one I use when I am on time.

I am talking to an old man in his store full of ancient pieces of furniture, books, clothes, strange pieces of wearables, 2 rusty pianos, and some bikes in the back, he is telling me I remind him of someone but he can't remember who exactly. I tell him about time, and I explain how now I am in the third stage late, which means time stopped existing for me, I don't know the time that is now, and because of that I definitely don't know how late exactly am I. The word late stopped having a meaning. It doesn't matter, I tell him, how long I will be in his shop or on the streets because I was already late and there is no way for me to change this.

I don't know exactly where I am now but there is an acute feeling of being too late, I am turning this thought around in my head. There is always a moment when there is no point in arriving at the goal destination, when it's too late the best is to just turn around.

It makes me nauseous. If I am too late my trip completely loses its meaning. The time that stopped existing on account of my being late would suddenly present itself to its immense extent. It would be wasted. The thought makes me bike faster. Once nice buzz is now growing into an uncomfortable burn. I can feel sweat breaking out on my back.

Im here, I am not on time. There is no one who is noticing or minding this.