my last week

traffic trickles by while Bono sings about love on my stereo. it's my last week of work. my last week of driving past the big man on the tiny bench reading his book. my last week of roaring silently at the crawling pace of the cars, or the impenetrable presence of a slow-plodding train. my last week of laughing with co-workers, marveling over their ideosyncracies, fuming at the low-grade technology or my low-paid salary. my last week of staring out this window onto pavement, watching the sun paint rings on the grey slabs and dreaming of a day when i no longer have to work. my last week of gluing together words, sentences, paragraphs, of breathing new life into God's old story. traffic trickles by and my tears trickle down at the thought of my last week.