Walk

Walk
by: Missbeenaroundtheworld 

Feet, wrapped in cotton socks, wrapped like a burrito, into new shoes, walking down the hall. Heel-toe, heel-toe, my pants brush against each other. The door looks strong and sturdy but feels nice and smooth. The chairs have little bumps, that look like chicken pox, that stick to my skin. The coolness of the table, the heat through the window. The windows are hot; they’ve been baking in the sun. My watch, something reassuring to hold on to. Metal clasp, to the little squares, the rim, the edge, the buttons. Time, yes, time is important. I grab my bag, the canvas bag with the leather straps. Cool metal, worn canvas, a heavy strap dig into my shoulder. Paper, sharp, crisp, like a neatly ironed shirt.