(no subject)
Some joggers, engaging in the pars course, ran out the path from the other side of the parking lot. There were three of them. All three were blonde and had high cheekbones. Two were wearing Milton University sweatshirts, and another had a shirt that said, plainly; “Northface,” in silkscreen. They jogged past and looked at Carmine, giving him an amused and skeptical glare.
Carmine, in his baggy London Fog overcoat, tattered watch cap, and other bum paraphernalia, instinctively began pretending to do some side bend stretches, immediately assumed a posture of innocence and participatory inclusion in the pars course experience.
Upon rising from one of his side bends, he pretended to suddenly notice one of the joggers, and brimmed a gratuitously large smile. One of the male joggers stared at him in a sort of Doppler manner, turning, then eventually craning his head and torso in hyperbolic interest at the sight of Carmine, this bum, pretending to partake in the pars course. The male jogger ran into a cement filled post, impacting the post with a slow, but groin specific thud, and the male jogger fell to the ground, writhing, and clasping his knees to his chest. The other two, a male and a female started laughing at him, but used the opportunity to catch their breath.
Carmine pretended to be interested in deep lunge stretches when the payphone rang.
He skittered up from a deep fencing lunge, and ambled over to the ringing payphone and picked up the receiver.
William Comparetto
© 2007