Trying to make it to school on time, you urge your taxi driver to go faster over the 59th street bridge. Once you get over the bridge your eyes are glued to only one place, the digital clock on the small touch screen TV. Then you hit traffic. You peer out from your trance to find the source of this inconvenience; you find the issue quickly, the traffic enforcement officers. You sigh as they separate cars from their paths for no definite reason. Allowing cars to come off of the FDR before they let you on slowing down traffic more than they are speeding it up. You moan only twelve more minutes before eight twenty. If you don’t get on the FDR soon you won’t make it. You curse the traffic enforcement for whatever reason you can, looking for someone to blame for your misfortune. You glare as you pass them the cruel rulers of your fate completely unaware of the importance of your punctuality. If you don’t make it you’ll be stuck after school for an hour. That can’t happen. You need to catch your bus after school. You have to make it. You get to your turn, you have ten minutes, with some luck you’ll make it.
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