"When do you quit?"
"6:00 PM."
"Do you live nearby?"
"No, not very near."
"You have a car?" He smiles and shakes his head. I knew it was a dumb question as soon as I opened my mouth, just as I knew it was dumb to ask him if he took a taxi, which was my next dumb question.
"You take a bus?"
"No, it also expensive and take too long."
My face started wondering as my mind plied through the transit options remaining in my steel-trapped mind. Finally, I asked, "How do you get to work?"
"I run. In morning, I run."
"You get up at 4:00 AM in the morning and you run to work?"
"Yes, I run."
"How long does it take?"
"Take 1 1/2 hours in morning."
Quietly, I total the hours... I look at this slight, smiling, young man as my head and body compute, and finally ask, "Aren't you sweaty when you get to work?"
"Hotel has shower I can use," which makes my slow brain think that like most African workers where he lives probably does not have a shower, let alone private running water.
"And in the evening, you run home?"
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