you could’ve been my hero
now who the hell will know
— the prophet amanda kravat
He’s sitting by the fountains. Cowboy hat, immaculate overalls, bike by his side, perfect white beard. I want to know his story. But that would require talking, and well, you know. So I just pause to sneak a photo and keep running.
It’s one of those perfect days. A nudge under 90, no breeze, many runners. The miles drift by in the way they do when the training cycle is new and the legs are fresh.
Marry Me Jane fades into Eels which leads into some songs I’ve never heard. How can your iPod have songs that are totally foreign? Nobody said running was supposed to make sense.
The miles go by too easily. I know soon enough my legs will be tired and my extremities will be numbed by the sub-60 temperature. I enjoy it while I can.
I stop and look for Bob, just to make sure. Gone. Sad. I guess that will happen to all of us someday. I hope someone notices when I’m not there.
But before I go, I hope to sit by a fountain. Cowboy hat, immaculate overalls, bike by my side, perfect white beard. Someone will want to know my story. But that would require talking. And well, you know.
Just another run …