Running Like I Mean It

I'm running fast, maybe faster than I should, following streets to their end. I see one neighborhood fade into the next. Actually, I'm running so fast that that the neighborhoods glide together, like the pages of a flip book. There's just the faintest chill, so girls are in trenches and guys are wearing sweaters. And me? I'm warm, so just a tank top and shorts will do. I sprint through clusters of commuters, almost colliding,  and I have no patience for stop lights, so I take unexpected turns if I don't have the light. Before I know it, I'm almost outside of Boston. I turn around, but I don't slow down.