It's Called an Alarm Clock

So I feel the need to comment on a chuckle-inspiring event that has become part of my morning walk to the subway. Usually I end up leaving my apartment around 8:30 to catch the subway into Manhattan. As I round my first corner I have become accustomed to seeing what I assume to be a girl, one can't always tell from the back, running Forrest Gump-style down the street.

Now this isn't ordinary running. The runner in question is fully equipped with one of the monogrammed L.L. Bean backpacks that so quickly throws my memory back to the book-heavy 8th grade days. I had a black one, the monstrous 2 pocket size, until high school hit and I downgraded to the cooler 1 pocket. If you have not been lucky enough to sport one of these bad boys you cannot imagine how much can it can fit, think dead body in the back of that creepy old man's Buick. That's a lot of crap!

Now, it really is the presence of the backpack which makes me break a smile every morning. Because she/he/it has just short of a body in her backpack it makes for the most awkward running I have ever witnessed. Swaying from side to side with each step, apparently frantic to get to the chosen destination. I thought it was funny the first morning, just passing it off as someone who over slept, but this morning rang in at number four in a row. I'm dying to know what is possessing this daily exodus on to Steinway St.

Every day I only catch this act as she is about to round the corner onto the cross street. Maybe if I ever catch her point of origin come Xmas I will leave a cutely wrapped alarm clock on the stoop. Or maybe I'll just continue to relish in my daily chuckle.