With a dry mouth and a handful of grapes, I frequently run out my door on lazy weekend afternoons or on school mornings to meet a friend. I may strive for punctuality; instead I flirt with time. Rather than leave early, I play a masochistic, heart-thumping game to shrink transportation to an impossible slice of time. It is not always worth a five-block sprint to meet a friend for coffee—occasionally, my friends arrive late as well. But I feel most guilty around Claire, my forever-punctual friend, who quietly waits in snowstorms or heat waves and never complains.