Everyone Runs Out of Time

Dan was a junior in high school, one of the students taking my Advanced Placement Language and Composition course. He was a dark-haired, olive skinned boy who wore his grandpa’s clothes, green tweeds and brown corduroys. Between classes, he wore a fedora, which he would periodically place on the floor as he stood in the Tower of C Building, among the English classrooms, juggling. When I had change, I would throw some into his hat in appreciation of his performance. More often, however, he had to settle for a handful of paperclips.