VARIOUS MATTERSThe first thing I do when I arrive at work in the morning is check the kitchen to see if there are any doughnuts. If there are, I eat as many as I can as quickly as I can. This is important. Because I don't want anyone else to have any doughnuts. I then fill my mug with coffee—horrible coffee made from beans picked, as far as I can tell, in the hills of downtown Detroit—and return to my desk. And then I drink the coffee down until the active ingredients enter my cardiovascular system and make me strive to be everything I can be—at 140 bpm, give or take.
I feel like the city—storm and clear and storm again. Puddles collecting near the corners and under the bridges. Shadow gone and shadow back. White popcorn cumulus. Grimy gray nimbostratus. Partly cloudy with periods of nerve-melting clarity and possible suntan. I hear music emanating from the backs of other humans' ear buds. On the bus or on the train. Elevated or subwayed. In the streets or sidewalks, stairwells. Too many disparate beats to rectify.
I need to kick it into high gear, whatever that means.