An Average Day: Part 5 of 8

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A fictional day comprised from parts of many non-fictional days while I was backpacking in Europe

I move slowly from the train, letting everyone ahead of me. There are plenty of times I’m in a hurry and it’s an unbelievably good feeling to move slowly where everyone else is rushing about. Climbing the stopped escalator, I feel a sharp pain in my knee, which leads me to think about my health. Besides all the walking around, traveling can get to be a pretty lethargic thing. I’ve found it difficult to exercise being in a new place every few days. I wonder if the pain is a sign of ageing, picture my bones and ligaments growing frail and shudder at the thought of passing time.

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An Average Day: Part 4 of 8

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A fictional day comprised from parts of many non-fictional days while I was backpacking in Europe

Whenever I got a cold, my parents would make me drink orange juice, so it’s taken on kind of a holy water status in my subconscious. I have this irrational idea that putting as much Vitamin C into my body as I can might make up for any lack of fruit or vegetable intake, so while waiting for the train I buy an orange juice from the vending machine and notice the weight of the foreign change drops more heavily into the machine than coins do at home. I read my book with my thumb between the pages propping it open, constantly a tad frustrated with how the pages want to close, but not enough to crease the bind. Between paragraphs I pause to watch people.

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An Average Day: Part 3 of 8

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A fictional day comprised from parts of many non-fictional days while I was backpacking in Europe

Exiting the hostel, I pull a wrinkled map from my pocket. It is split at the creases since my inability to fold and unfold it has resulted in repeated use of force. I scan for graphics of big buildings or other important looking things and taking a black pen from my bag, I try circling them with the map against my knee. The pen pops through the thin glossy paper and pokes my knee, inking a dot on my jeans. When I look to it I laugh because right next to it is a blue dot from some other time I did the same thing in some other city. I don’t know when it was, which means I don’t know when I last washed my jeans; maybe never.

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