1. Pulse

You're not really asleep. Your eyes are still dry.

It's 6:10 AM. Your alarm is set for 6:27 AM. You have a piano lesson at 7 AM, and in fear of missing it you only sleep lightly. There's a busy morning ahead.

You have a haircut scheduled at 10:30 AM. Each day, your grandma's been asking when you'll get a haircut. She keeps saying you look like Jesus. You aren’t quite sure what that means.

Between the lesson and the haircut, you want to go on a long run. You haven't been exercising as frequently as you pledged to yourself. You really have to squeeze this run in.

All of a sudden, the piano lesson is over. You were practicing a blues riff. You change into running attire, body still feeling stiff. Your eyes are still dry. You need coffee. You make a long shot of Nespresso, and grab two small cookies from your grandma's sweets stash. You're out the door. It's overcast. The air is cool. The ground still wet. The trees fragrant. You begin to jog. Each step, your weight sinks into your knees. You maneuver around a sidewalk under construction on an uncomfortably narrow street lined by parked cars. Parents are walking their children to school. The kids aren't much larger than their backpacks. After a few minutes, you find yourself just having crossed a busy intersection. It should be smooth sailing from here. You pass old men sitting around cigarettes and coffee. Then a few fathers with strollers. A lightness gradually takes you over. You listen to your breath. You hop over a puddle.

The street ends, and you arrive at the outdoor market. It hasn't quite opened yet. You realize that if the weather was a little better, jogging through it would have been impossible. It starts to sprinkle - that doesn't bother you. You navigate your way skipping between crates of produce. You aren't far from the beach. You find your way towards it, and hop onto the wide promenade built along its side. The sun shines again. Waves crash onto rocks. In the distance, you spot your destination. The green tip of the tower reveals itself. You keep moving forward. The sidewalk morphs to cobblestone. The open coast turns to narrow streets hugged by yellow stone walls. It's dusty yet cozy.

Suddenly the walls open onto a large busy round-about. Your destination is just across it. You take a moment to consider which direction to take crossing the round-about's exits. After what feels like careful deliberation, you choose counter-clockwise. You arrive on the other side.

You hop up the few stone steps to arrive at the base of the clock tower. You walk up to it. There's a plaque describing its history. One hand extends to touch its wall. The stone is rougher than you expected. Your eyes close. The second hand follows. Noise of cars and people from the busy square dims. Your breathing slows. A pulse emerges from the tower. It's been here for a long time. It has seen a lot. Though it lacks the freedom to wander, it stands tall. It's a part of this place.

Your eyes open. You turn away from the tower. The sun warms your face. Usually you avoid this feeling, but for now you relish it. As you embark the journey back, you decide to run up the coast for a while. The sea is angry. Images of an old man returning soup at a deli emerge in your head. You chuckle. You notice how beautiful the coast is. The promenade bends up, down and to the sides. You feel free. First grassy parks pass by you, then outdoor gyms. You cross a small bridge. Other runners cross your path. With some you exchange a smile. When you eventually reach a building decorated with vertical rainbow stripes, you turn back into the city. For some time, you run up an incline. You pass a cute french bakery. The length of the run begins to wear on you, but it feels good. The slope flattens, and you cut in to the left. You're not far from your favorite coffee shop. It seems reasonable to end your run there. It'll only take 10 minutes to walk home from there. You run the last few steps to the base of the coffee shop. Only now you notice how sweaty you are. You climb the 5 steps to the entrance of the coffee shop. The barista that you chatted with yesterday is there. Yesterday he had longer hair and a thick beard. Today his hair is cut short, and beard now scruff. You're following his example. Yesterday he mentioned that he only drinks oat milk now, so you decide to order a cappuccino with oat milk. You embarrassingly forget how to say "oat milk" in Hebrew. You ask if what you thought is right. You also see a beautiful knotted cardamom pastry behind the glass case. You obviously order that too. You're still catching your breath. As you're waiting for your coffee, you chug a few glasses of water. You don't look your prettiest. Your coffee is prepared and you sit down to enjoy it with your pastry. You take a sip. "Fuck it's good" you think to yourself. You tear a piece off of the cardamom knot, and it melts in your mouth. Ecstasy rushes over you. You sit for another ten minutes, enjoying the smells and sounds of espresso being extracted, and milk frothed. Conversations of other patrons hum over you.

Remembering that you should shower before your haircut, you bus your dishes and begin to walk back. Dark clouds suddenly roll overhead. It begins to rain. After a couple of blocks, as you stand beneath an overhang waiting to cross a busy street, it begins to pour. For the next 30 seconds, as the light remains red, you contemplate what to do. Your legs are tired. You're not far from home. Water starts to flow down the street. The light turns. You sprint across the street. Every second the rain becomes heavier. In 10 seconds, you feel soaked. You keep running. As you pass the first block, the intersection forms a small river. You step your entire foot into it, then the other foot. The thick, cold drops shock your skin. Your legs grow more tired. You stop running - enough is enough. You surrender to the rain. You now walk slowly, the rain still pouring over you. The street rivers continue to flow. Each step, you hear a squirting sound between your toes. A smile forms. It's not so bad. You inhale the fresh wet air. You're the only one outside. The blues scale vibrates in your chest. You begin to sing it out loudly, voice cracking on the G. The rain harmonizes with you. You are alive.