I have to wait to get a good run in. I need rest in between. The first cup of coffee after I’ve been sober for a week hits the hardest. If I try to keep going, drinking coffee successive mornings, I’ve built up a tolerance and it’s not as effective. I have to slow down and rest and be bored even. Once I’ve done that for a while, I’m primed to blast off again.

At a coffee shop with a vaulted ceiling, I just so happened to look up.

A white ceiling with sky lights. Orange-purple light coming through one. White-blue light coming through the other. The corners where the walls meet the ceiling. Four windows on the far wall. Yellow light shining through at an angle from the east. Four rectangles of light on the west wall at a stair-stepped diagonal.

We don’t look up enough.

We look down. We look ahead.

We’re very concerned with ourselves and what’s going on around us.

As each heel hits the sidewalk, the sound reverberates up through my bones, beating the drums of my ears from the inside. The coffee shop I was at before had its front doors open. Too cold to work. The seat was uncomfortable anyway. I’m walking to another coffee shop down the street. One, two, one, two. I count my steps. Heels hitting. I have my head down. My hands are shoved deep into my coat pockets. It’s raining. Occasionally a heavy drop drips from a storefront overhang and lands on my head. I try to avoid this by walking closer to the curb. It’s cold. I tuck my chin to my chest and shrug my shoulders. It’s dark. The sky is fog in all directions. The only thing to do is to go faster. I hope the next coffee shop will have its front doors shut.