Late
untitled, from Slow City | Roger Bucher
Written by: Emma Mathes
What was her deal? Her inner monologue yelled at her, reminiscent of her mother’s tone. Three decades of life and still, she couldn’t figure out how to leave the house on time.
She was running from the subway in booties and bare legs and while doing so she thanked a higher power that the sidewalk was empty. The sight of strangers watching her run in a dress and boots was not her favorite.
Mid-stride she drew up her wrist to her eyeline. She’d make it by the time the curtain rose but not by the time on her ticket. She shook her head and kept pace.
