I took a long run yesterday, but it was more of a run/walk, (due to possible shinsplits (I loathe stretching)) and I ended up in a suburb away from the touristy area, and wandered down a dark a dusty path and ended at the bay.
The ocean sucked and pleaded with the rocky land, and I wanted to sit and watch, to ruminate, to grow.
On my way, I plodded past a parked car. Zero signs of activity, which I took to mean two things: mobsters disposing of a body in the ocean, or passionate smelly teeangers locked in eachothers arms and oblvious to running girls.
So there I sat, balanced on my rocky purchase, listening to the crash crush rush of the ever present water, the tugging give and take of the night, trying to push aside worries of A. getting shot in the back by Maltese mobsters B. intruding on some private make out spot the locals know of.
Eventually, they drove off, and I circled my way back home.
No comments:
Post a Comment