Mr. 7:53

I don't know where he's walking from. I don't know where he's walking to. The only thing I know is when I take a certain light rail train to work, he and I cross paths some time during the sixty-second span known as 7:53 AM.

It wasn't something I noticed right away. That first day, many months ago, I only remember passing some guy with brown hair, a book bag, an iPod, and blue jeans as we walked to our respective destinations, and those details didn't stick in my head until we had passed each other three or four days in a row. (So, to be accurate, that first day, I only remember passing some guy.)

At the start of Week 2, I began to take note of the time:

• Monday - 7:53
• Tuesday - 7:53
• Wednesday - N/A (took bus)
• Thursday - 7:53
• Friday - 7:53

Indubitably, when we passed each other and I peered at my watch, the time would be 7:53.

This has now been going on for several months. It has begun to feel like something out of The Outer Limits. I'm tempted to stop him and ask him where he's heading or how he keeps such a consistent schedule, but I fear the reality his answers would reveal would pale next to the reality I have imagined, which is this...

He's a passport photo booth repairman.

Wait, that isn't it. It's this...

His name is Kyle McGillicuddy and he's a technical writer for a software company with office space overlooking Plaza de Cesar Chavez. He lives in a fourth-floor loft in one of downtown's many luxury apartment buildings. While it affords him a short fifteen-minute commute by foot, he can barely afford the lease, so he supplements his income by playing poker at Bay 101, a local card room, in the evenings.

So far, the supplementing hasn't been as successful as he would have liked, but he is optimistic he can continue to make a profit (however meager) as long as he stays focused and maintains discipline, not only at the card table, but in all aspects of his life, including his morning routine.

This is why he always wakes at exactly 7:15, showers for exactly five minutes and thirty seconds with the knob turned exactly 1.5 inches counterclockwise (the faucet is marked), shaves for exactly three minutes, brushes his teeth for two minutes, dresses in ninety seconds (clothes laid out the night before), drinks precisely nine ounces of coffee (black), eats half a cup of regular oatmeal (with one cup of milk and seven drops of honey), checks the weather and reads the New York Times online (two articles and one opinion piece), pours the remaining seven ounces of brewed coffee into a travel mug, grabs his book bag, puts his shoes on (right foot first), descends the stairs (left foot first starting each flight), reaches the street at 7:45, passes some strange guy (who wears a tan backpack and always checks his watch) at 7:53, and reaches his desk at exactly 8:00. It's a system that seems to have worked so far, so he sees no reason to change it.

For his sake, I hope he gets a raise soon so he won't have to rely on Lady Luck to put food on the table (or bring pizza to the door). Of course, once he stops playing poker, he will likely slack off and I'll no longer see Mr. 7:53 on my way to work. That will be a sad day, I'm sure. Until then, though, I'll keep an eye out for him, continue to check my watch (so I don't accidentally jinx him), and keep my mouth shut (to prevent pesky reality from butting in).