Clocks

It's an extraordinary long wait for the elevator, when there's a smelly garbage bag in your hands and an uncomfortable neighbor, who doesn't English, eyeing you surreptitiously. When the doors finally open, a slew of other neighbors are inside, Ken H. among them.

Ken is also on his way to work but, unlike me, he isn't late. He tells me its culturally acceptable at law firms to come in past 9:30. Banks are just the opposite. I drop off the garbage and rush to the station, stopping only to adjust the time on my wrist watch when I realize I have forgotten to set it back from daylight savings.