Do not be late

He ran as fast as he could. He slalomed down the pavement avoiding people all the way. He felt people were being deliberately awkward, he knew they weren't, but it felt like it. Just him against the rest of the world. He was having thoughts he'd never had before. The street he was navigating down was full of tourists and he was shocked and surprised at the racist nature of the thoughts that went through his head when one of them slowed him down whilst reading a map or taking a photo.


He realised just how anxious he was, his normally sophisticated thought process had deserted him and he was having a series of angry, random thoughts. Anything that slowed him down was received with the sort of vitriol that he would normally save for serious criminals. His internal outburst at the traffic that prevented him from crossing the road when he wanted to shocked him again.

In amongst all this, he was still patently aware of the bottom line. He couldn't be late. All she asked of him was to be on time. Being late is by no means an unforgivable sin, but this was one more straw on an already wilting camel's back.

He zipped his jacket up, took a deep breath and set off again...

The End

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