Passage of Time

I was sitting in a corner cafe this afternoon, talking with my friend about literature and about conversations, among other things, telling him a couple of jokes that I had caught in the morning, which has lately  become a sure signal that I would later run into him and have an opportunity to repeat them, when I looked out the window and saw a group of 8 or maybe 10 young women in shorts and T-shirts waiting for a traffic light change.   The cafe is located smack in between the university campus and the surrounding dormitories and student housing, a long block to the  East,  and the start of a popular jogging trail, a short block to the West, and these girls were obviously running together, or if you prefer, jogging.

"Look," I said to my friend, "the academic year must have started, the freshmen are running!"

A few minutes later another group passed outside the window.   In a month, these groups of excited new students, new friends, will whittle down to twos and threes, as their school work increases, new friends  become old friends, and enthusiasm for running wanes.   But this annual sight is one way we measure passage of time in this town