Impatience is a way of being somewhere before everyone else. Already around the corner, already gone, while the rest of us are still deciding. It moves through a place the way weather does — passing, not staying, leaving the slower ones to describe what just went by. It doesn’t check whether you’ve kept up. There is always a next thing, and it is always more interesting than the present one. To be near it is to spend a lot of time looking at the space someone just left — the door still swinging, the sentence not quite finished. You can learn to read a person by their leaving.