Thursday morning

I woke up at 6am to the radio set to 1010Wins- you give them 22 minutes, they’ll give you the world. Walking to my 6:30am spin class at the gym was not as bad as I thought it would have been. There were few people out, and the six blocks or so passed quickly under my feet. After an exciting 45 minutes of pumped up club and pop music I was on my back home, and stepped out of the gym into a parallel universe. My calm morning walk had been interrupted by singles and pairs of joggers, all adorned in typical garb- black tight running shorts, and colorful tops. They looked like parrots, or brightly garbed ghosts from the Carribbean, all ascendent to that most singular and high purpose of getting exercise. They are a rare breed- the person who exercises before work; and for that brief moment in time, I shared their walk- their joys, their fears, their pain. All was well and quiet, everybody respecting the sacred silence of the early morning when a sweaty voice panted out, “Alejandro, Ale-jandro”. I listened closer, and as the panting increased the man continued on “Alejandro, just let me go”. Turning around I saw a short male jogger approaching. His shirt was completely soaked through, and a pair of headphones sat across his balding head. His eyebrows were strong, as was his determination. He ran past me, “- but her boyfriend’s like a dad- just like a dad”, crooning between gulps of air. As he slowly made his way down the sidewalk his voice faded, but the memory remains.


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