morning pancakes

I've got my ponytail losely tied and its swinging from one side to the other as I pace myself,
hoping not to trip over some drain again.
The sky's slowly beginning to fall into a slumber and Im fighting for time.
I turn back, as soon as I see a light streak of pink in the distance.
That's my call.
I carelessly step into a puddle of muddy water, and splash a little bit of the mud onto my legs.
The mud gently stings the small scab on my shin.
But I don't bother.
I've got my shoulders slightly hunched and I can't keep my eyes off the ground
I stare at the dead leaves that play a crisp, coarse, melancholy tune as I run over them.
and I stare at the drains in front of me as I slowly and gradually pass them one by one,
hoping again,
not to trip over any of them.
I can't be like this.
So I straighten my back, tilt my head back up slightly,
and switch the song on my mp3 to, "if you want me" by Marketa Irglova and Glen Hansard.
I like the song. It sounds french.
Now, I move faster. Trying to make it back before the pink streak in the sky vanishes.
I pass the old man with the limp in his right leg.
I smile to him, and he too, like always, smiles back lazily.
I pass a group of women, gurka's wives, to be exact,
and they make way for me, as I run past.
I pass the terrace houses,
and don't duck, as I run though a cluster of trees with branches hanging low,
because I am already short enough.
I head straight for a row of blocks. and run, from the first block, to the second, then to the third,
and back again.
And as soon as I feel dizzy, and as soon as my heart stars to ache,
I make my way back to prison.