nowhere to run - by daniel bashir - sincerely, in jest

The great thing about running in circles is that you have no idea how far you’ve run. You’re keenly aware of your body, your breath, the inside of your head, because it’s the only thing changing, the only thing letting you know that the fiftieth lap around the block is not the same as the forty-ninth. Three (9:15): When I run on Saturday mornings, there is a green car with a lady inside it on the side of the block opposite my townhouse. That green car is not always there: today, I saw the green car emerge from a driveway and take its usual spot by the side of the road perpendicular to Evelyn Ave. The woman sits in the driver’s seat of her car for what feels like ages. I’m not sure if it feels like ages because it is a long time, or if it feels like ages because I am not staring at my phone. Five (9:27): I wonder if it feels like ages to her. She got out of the car today, carrying three of what looked like tote bags. One of the tote bags was patterned like a colorful zebra—the black-and

The great thing about running in circles is that you have no idea how far you’ve run. You’re keenly aware of your body, your breath, the inside of your head, because it’s the only thing changing, the only thing letting you know that the fiftieth lap around the block is not the same as the forty-ninth. Three (9:15): When I run on Saturday mornings, there is a green car with a lady inside it on the side of the block opposite my townhouse. That green car is not always there: today, I saw the green car emerge from a driveway and take its usual spot by the side of the road perpendicular to Evelyn A