Audio: [I used to work really close](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1KOTATlrAmZ_xB2m7HjNaFrfs4XsQlcaO/view?usp=drivesdk) I used to work really close to my apartment, just ten minutes away on foot. Every weekday followed almost the same rhythm. I’d wake up around seven, make coffee, and stand by the window while it brewed. I didn’t rush much because I knew I had time. After a quick shower, I’d grab my bag, lock the door, and head out. I always took the same street. There was a small bakery on the corner, and most mornings I stopped there for a croissant. The woman behind the counter knew my order, so we barely spoke. I’d keep walking, pass the park, and reach the office before nine without thinking about it. Workdays felt steady. I checked emails, had a short meeting, and worked quietly until lunch. At noon, a few of us went to the same café nearby. We talked about normal things: traffic, weekend plans, what we were eating. After lunch, the afternoon went by slowly but predictably. When I finished work, I walked home the same way. Sometimes I bought groceries, sometimes I didn’t. By six, I was usually back on my couch, shoes off, thinking about dinner. The days weren’t exciting, but they felt simple and easy. Everything fit into place without much effort.