I ran to my home, my books held close to my chest. My footsteps thudded on the pavement as rhythmically as the pounding of my heart. The high winds tore at my hair and grasped at the ends of my clothes with powerful, invisible hands. My breath came in quick, short gasps. I quickly ran through some famous authors in my head: Shakespeare, Dickens, Orwell, Austen, Poe, Dickinson, Frost.
"Yes, I am.Why do you ask?" I inquired, looking closely at my oldest friend and co-worker.