bus 88, that is. Just yesterday, I found myself (yes, again) ready to make the 100-metre sprint for the bus that I'll never manage to get on. It's like this: I see the bus round the corner, a good 50 metres from the bus-stop, vrooming it's way at 60 km/h and I tell myself, "Yes, if I run fast enough, I'll be able to catch it." Duh...who am I kidding? Well, anyway, I actually had to make a conscious effort to stop myself from doing that. "Good golly! I'm a woman of leisure. I can't believe I actually wanted to run for that bus!"
Okay, I value punctuality a great deal. It probably comes in second place, next to integrity. So, regardless of an appointment or not, my eyes will supposedly signal to my brain which will in turn doubtlessly tell my legs to make a dash for the bus. What a sucker! Hahaha...
Okay, I value punctuality a great deal. It probably comes in second place, next to integrity. So, regardless of an appointment or not, my eyes will supposedly signal to my brain which will in turn doubtlessly tell my legs to make a dash for the bus. What a sucker! Hahaha...
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