A Walk To A Gate

        So I walk, walk, and then walk some more. Based on the accurate estimate of my fingers on a map, itís looking like 7 miles or so total that I have to go to arrive at one famous bridge. Few people are out: a newspaper delivery guy, some bums wrapped in plastic sleeping on the side of the road, a car every block or so. Around 5:00 in the morning, a cop car pulled up ahead of me and a spotlightís suddenly in my eyes. I respond with a loud ďgood evening,Ē but donít really break pace. Thereís no answer (or any noise, for that matter) from the car; I donít know if their window was down to hear me, if they think Iím a homeless person walking along in my goofy blue poncho, or what. After putting half a block of distance between me and the silently intimidating and not so friendly officers, I look back to see the car still sitting there. Maybe they needed a nap?
        Much more walking uneventfully follows. My body from the knees down gets drenched, as itís not covered by my poncho and the rainís coming down constantly, but I get continually closer. Nothing else interesting happens along the way, I just walk with my thoughts and admire the quiet immensity of a city asleep.
        I arrive at the around 6, as morning trafficís picking up and the first signs of sunlight are starting to peek over the horizon. Itís a good distance (half a mile? no idea) across, so I decide to walk the bridge as the sun rises. My body disagrees, and I take several weird standing catnaps against supports. I try to cut these out, so end up nearly walking right into a pole. More or less awake, I make it across with pretty good timing: my walk backís as the day brightens.
        If not for the kindness of strangers, Iíd still be sleeping on a bus right now. The driver of the one I caught after recrossing the bridge kindly woke me when he reached the end of the line, which was fortunately near the train station where I was to catch my ride to San Mateo. I make the train just in time, promptly passing out until a worker randomly wakes me about a minute before the stop I need. Packing for the trip back east with next to no sleep was a frustrating experience, as my limbs seemed to be experiencing several minutesí delay between me wanting to throw something in my bag and actually gathering the energy to commit the action. One plus of sleep deprivation was the flight back: it felt like about 10 minutes long, as I slept straight through all but a few minutesí worth. Back in Philly, classes start Monday. I enjoyed my trip but probably could have used a bit more relaxing break. Maybe I should have actually spent more than a week at home, possibly even a little time with my family? Whatever: itís 2 hours away, not like I have to fly to the other side of the country or anything. At least not until this summer... :)

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