2:54 Thursday Afternoon

Here it is, the time. How long will this minute last? Hah. Still going. Almost seems forever…gone. That wasn’t even a full minute. It was 2:54PM PDT when I began thinking to use the time as a title for this work.

Do I really want to write now? Shall I get something to eat? Is my day completely out of control? How do I count all the work I’ve just done for real estate brokerage, considering this is writing time? It’s almost 3PM and I’m running out of time pretty soon here and need to get back home eventually…and it took time to organize the title block, locate things a bit on the page. Then I began to write, here with the music in the background at the working cafe. The writing’s easier here than at the restaurant. A nice restaurant and everything but having people waiting on me makes it harder to write. So, here at the cafe the words flow…

3:02PM. Different music. People coming and going. So many in their nice, San Francisco work shoes, clopping around.

A woman obviously looking for a seat sits down across from me after I say the space is open. She starts to get out her lunch, her laptop and all, but then she’s looking to the side, scanning the room. Desks, tables, easy chairs, long tables, wide tables, chairs with little desks, tall tables with chairs, glass rooms with whiteboards. I’ve never seen so many different kinds of sitting and working stations all in one place. Anyway, she never gets all of her stuff out, just begins putting it out more slowly while scanning the room, until she hops up and walks away.

I can feel my day moving, though I don’t dictate how it goes. The phone lights up with a call. A new song comes on. I think of ordering a snack but hold off a bit longer. The whole experience seems circular. I guess sitting at an outdoor cafe, or maybe a restaurant, actually would be a lot more interesting material than this warehousey space. Still, you know, here I am. And it’s easy to write here. No sky, no trees, just time…and others working. With the music. Not at the brokerage, or at home, or at a restaurant, or on BART. It’s hard to get work done in all those places. Just here, with the clock ticking.