The drive to work is always rushed.

I calculated how long it takes to make breakfast, shower, and get dressed—

working backwards to set my alarm.

And I swear I left myself plenty of time.

But I’m always racing the clock.

And the later I am, the worse my luck is.

The lights taunt me today, flashing red just as I approach.

And to hell with that damned slow minivan in front of me.

I race past to the left.

When I look towards the driver to give a dirty look,

a sweet old lady smiles at me.

It’s forced, but I smile back.

I pull in to my favorite spot in the corner of the parking lot.

I scurry into the office, one hand holding my bag, the other grappling with the last two buttons under my collar.

I wave at Jerome, who’s manning the front desk today.

In the back of the office, I put my bag down and finally get a chance to breathe.

Today marks year seven at the post office.

I don’t like talking with customers so I'd much rather be in the back, sorting through all the mail.

It gets repetitive, but I know it’s important work.

Jerome tells me we run America.

It’s busier around this time of year, and I only last 3 hours before my neck needs a break.

I step outside for a cigarette.

In the artificial garden they planted around the parking lot, the hydrangeas are blooming again.

But the slight drizzle extinguishes my flame,

cutting my break short.

—

I always enjoy the drive back home.

There’s no rush, no racing the clock,

no one waiting for me at home.

I roll down my window.

It always smells the best after it rains.

It’s not a long drive back.

Just straight down Westin and then a right at the big Safeway.

A little further down and you’ll see the gate to my community, Foxborough Estates.

I light a cigarette.

Winter must be ending because the sun is getting longer.

As I’m racing down Westin, the sun is to my left—

peeking at me through every crack between the trees.

I press the gas a little harder.

The sun emerges from behind the trees.

And it’s always in that same place—

slightly ahead of me.

The traffic light brings me to a stop, granting it an unfair advantage to race ahead.

I'm at the end of Westin.

I look forward and see the Safeway.

I look up to my left and see the sun.

The light turns green.

I grip the steering wheel a little harder.

My cigarette burns a little brighter.

And I turn.

I don’t know how.

Nor do I know where.

But I want to escape.

As I race down the road in front of me,

I’m ashamed.

Ashamed to admit that by midnight, I’ll be back at Foxborough.

Laying in bed, getting ready for tomorrow.

But just for this moment,

while I feel the pressure of the gas under my foot,

while my cigarette glows its fiery red,

and while the sun’s still up—

I’ll be chasing the sun.