I rush and I rush everywhere in this goddam city. Something about the congregations of happy tourists that seems to leave a sour taste in my mouth, just ambling as they please, stopping, starting, haunting. But really it's the jealousy of their freedom, and if I were in their situation I've no doubt I would be the same. 

Just always seem to not be where I want to be quick enough, I guess that goes for how I generally feel about my life I suppose. I look at myself sad that it has come to this. What does it matter if I have to wait another fifteen minutes for my train home? Why do I care?