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I anticipate the end of everything and anything—a conversation, a class, track practice, darkness—only to be left with more clock-watching to take its place. I’m continually waiting for something better that never comes. Maybe it would help if I knew what I wanted.
“Did you know that the average American spends six months of his or her life waiting for red lights to turn green?” “What?” “Six months wasted, waiting for permission to move on,” he said.