the ticking of the clock on the wall

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the ticking of the clock on the wall

 

the pounding of the heart in my chest

 

the stomping of hard rubber on smooth cement

 

the shuffling of papers as they are stacked and filed

 

the dusty blinds have been drawn shut on the window

 

life outside seems so far away

untouchable to even the longest reach

the sky seems nothing more than a hazy shade of gray

 

but the hustle and bustle of traffic

engines revving

horns honking

brakes squeaking

stopping the car for the man crossing the street on his cell phone

seeps through the walls of the old building

 

stuck in a moment

 

when time passes

 

ever

 

so

 

slowly

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