Habits
I walk quickly out of habit, not because I have anywhere I need to be.
The street bustles around me; somehow the bus feels like protection, and I begin to get anxious about getting off at the next stop.
Next song. Next. Next. Next. A mixture of album filler and pirated-quality mp3s pollute my iPod’s shuffles.
I see my stop come and go and try to calculate whether it’s enough of an excuse to just go back home. My phone vibrates a reminderabout the missed call from my mom that I ignored last night because I was high.
Finally, I convince myself to get off the bus and face the streets, and the people they have on them. I spot someone I vaguely know coming from the far end of the block. As I quickly turn to walk in the opposite direction, I wonder to myself, “Maybe that’s how I got this habit.”
