I run. I wake up and get out of bed and put on my short running shorts--really short--and go for a jog. I breathe in the fresh crisp morning fall air. I work out the stresses of life and work and release them out of my body. I let it all go. I become one with the sidewalk, with the pavement. My feet rest in the wet cement. I hadn't seen it. I was in the flow. But now my feet are stuck. I become a piece of artwork: Morning Jogger in Pavement. Tour buses change routes and pass by. Look at that: a living monument to the New York City morning jogger. Newspapers write about me. The pizza shop on the corner feeds me. Other joggers pass me by and wave. I am an piece of artwork, one with the pavement. I accept it.