Twenty Minutes

March 31, 2011

Twenty minutes to go. And I sit here waiting for the clock to reach it’s time. My time your time, everybody else’s time. Everybody waits. The phone rings, not even a full ring or else I’ve failed as a receptionist. I page. No one answers. They hang up. And I keep typing. Kanye West singing to me in the background, Heard ‘Em Say. Rocking my head to the beat, realizing I’ve heard them say a lot too. And now he’s telling me to Drive Slow homie. And now Paul Wall joins this post. Don’t rush to get grown, drive slow. Turn your hazard lights on when you see them hoes homie. Now I’m trying to type to the beat. Text message ring. Dismiss. Drive slow. I figured blogging would make time go by a little faster, but the more I glance at the clock, the slower the hand moves. So let’s talk business. Once I’m out of here, it’s thirty minutes of traffic and idiotic drivers. And since they play the same yawns over and over again, I’ll bump some Nas Illmatic on the way home. Something to look forward too, followed by a drive to the track. And early yet late two mile run. And I mean early because I’m use to working out around 8pm. Change of plans though. I’m going to devour some crawfish around that time at a nearby sports lounge with some of the greatest human beings on this cosmetic universe. All in time to be home at a descent hour, have a good night sleep, with enough gratifying dreams to share with everyone the next day. Or the next year, or some point in life. Five minutes to go. And by the time I put up all my shit, and shut this computer down, it I’ll be 5pm. This has been twenty minutes of pure non-sense that I have decided to share with the world. Along with my other posts. Drive slow homie. Peace.

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