I've been suffering intense bouts of laziness these past two days, and instead of going for a run after work, I've been crawling straight into bed after getting home. It might have something to do with being traumatized by the bicycle rider that I encountered during my run earlier in the week. Flabby butt hanging out from the inappropriate lo-rise jeans he was wearing and crack staring me straight in the eyes - disturbing to say the very least. I was so ready to stick my fingers in my eyes until they bled. Luckily, he rode off the other way as I made the turn to my usual running trail.
That's not all.
As I was running back home, I ran past a gangly teenager decked out in hip-hop street wear, his bike laying across the path, and him splayed out on the grass beside it...masturbating. The air aound him was thick with the smell of pot and he was completely stoned. I need to find a new place to run. Or to move to.
Meanwhile, someone is playing the bongos outside my window. If the beat was consistent, I'd be into it, but all this start-stop beating is driving me nuts.
"Would I like some cheese with my whine?" you ask?
Why certainly!
Twentysomething :: Michael Kaeshammer
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