The thought of walking two blocks to get to the bus stop is even more grueling than the thought of the fifteen-minute bus-ride I'm supposed to be talking. I know once I've boarded the bus I'll be just fine. Getting myself there is the hard part. That is the longest walk in the world. I feel like I'm missing something big somewhere. A happening. An opportunity. A magical moment — all because I had to walk to the bus-stop. The mere thought of getting out of myself with myself and be forced to window-shop is a vision which stalks me like a pin-prick without the pay-off. Still I know, once I get to the terminal, I'm as good as reached my destination. Unless someone fills in all those cracks in the sidewalk from here to the bus-stop, I'm not going anywhere. At least if I stay put the only cracks I can be accountable for are the ones on my forehead which exist because I don't want to walk. I'm tired of feeling like I have no choice but to be just another co-pilot walking along this city's broken walkways, all the while complaining about how expensive it is to take the bus these days — just to get out of it.