I get a text from my mum. It is morning and she is on the train heading downtown to meet my sister for an appointment. She has a notepad with a page full of questions.

On the other side of the world, I am jet-lagged, fighting off tears from a horrible bridge-burning meeting, and hiking through a mountain of dirt in a pencil skirt, tights, and a blazer. The seemingly never-ending road construction has finally inched its way to my office and the only way in or out is to slog through a dusty excavation pit. I would complain, but mostly I'm just grateful it isn't the rainy season.

A backhoe drops a pile of dirt five feet to the left. I try to figure out where it's going next, because there sure isn't any dude with a fluorescent vest enforcing a safety perimeter. I skirt around a cement mixer and scale my way up the hill. The scale of this pit is ginormous... It takes me almost 30 minutes to gingerly pick my way along the precarious path. Did I mention i am doing this in a suit?

On the other side of the pit I can see a gaggle of little boys carrying rags and jerry cans of water, jostling to be first to clean my dusty shoes when i finally make it across. A raggedy street guy weaves towards me and bops my ass with an empty plastic bottle as I pass him. I contemplate being outraged and confronting him but i just can't find the energy.

i want to text my mum and sister - good luck, i am thinking of you. But i can't take my eyes off the road. That's how people fall in manholes*.

*Not a metaphor.

5:00 p.m. - 2012-11-23