I just flew half way across the world.

035. low on time? running makes it go for longer.

I arrived at LAX this morning and somehow it slipped my mind that I had a 7-hour layover. Not sure how I forgot, but I just did.

So, I did what anyone would do, right? I googled the nearest storage unit to stash my bag. Turns out, it was at a CrossFit gym. After an easy 45-minute bus ride and a short Uber, I dropped off my bag and changed into my joggers.

I’m not in a tourist area, but I wouldn’t know the difference since I’ve never been here nor planned to be. A quick look at Google Maps showed I was 1.8 miles from Grand Central Market, and from there, not far from the oldest street in LA, Olvera Street.

Film camera in hand, I trusted all my belongings to a random guy at the gym. He grumbled about how tired he was of doing these bag holds because the app was always glitching. Sorry, I guess? I thanked him, explaining my plan to go for a run with a bit of excitement. He couldn’t have cared less. I don’t blame him.

“Yeah, yeah, go. It’s fine. The bags are fine. The door’s always open. What time will you be back?”

The sky was blue with a pitch of freshness in the air.

People watching, but not staring.

Eating, but not too much, I’ve still got awhile to go on my feet.

Life really is what you make of it.

This short, 7-hour layover has scratched an itch from a previous life I once lived and thrived in. It feels good to be back in this arena of the unknown, even if it’s just for 7 hours. I’ve still got about 3 hours before I need to head back to the airport. I’m not missing this flight. I can’t.

My coffee’s still hot, and I’m in no rush. Not yet.