Sunday, July 16, 2006

dehydration leaves the most beautiful grimace on a man's face.

Yesterday I was giving my good old buddy Dusty a ride home, after a most fulfilling night of beer and non-stop "Lost" watching (If you haven't seen it, I recommend you do, even if it is just for the sake of pining for the boy scout hero, Dr. Jack. He's the kind of man who makes you wince and bite your knuckles when his bulging, sweating biceps quiver as he lifts one vulnerable woman after another and carries her to safety. eh hemm. so anyway . . .) Rocking out to a sweet mix CD of summer jams, its a standard drive home. We pull up to a long line of cars at an intersection on University. Nobody is moving. There are no signs anywhere indicating what is going on. No fire truck, no ambulance. A couple police cars ahead, but as far as we can tell, there isn't any good reason for us all to be waiting around. The bus next to me becomes impatient and honks. Within a few nano seconds other cars honk. Caught up in the mob mentality, I honk. Dusty laughs at me, and being the kind of girl who rarely gets a good laugh out of people, I do it again. Thank god, Dusty chuckles again (although, this time there was a sense of forced hesitation, way to be a sport Dusty). Sitting, sitting, sitting. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Dusty seems a little to hung over for small talk. We just keep saying "What the fuck man." Finally, the sexy lady cop (in my eyes, all lady cops are sexy) starts waving cars forward, a couple at a time. As we approach my eyes are scanning the area, looking for the fire. All clear. As it is our turn to be motioned forward, a Nico song comes on. My favorite Nico song, "These Days". Pulling through the intersection, relieved that we are moving and moving to a beautiful moving song, I hear Dusty quietly say "Oh shit."

So I look out Dusty's window as we pass and there it is. A marathon. A wall of sweaty flesh coming right for us. It looks like at least 200 people, all men. All wearing only short shorts. It was tan and shiny. Bodies jiggling, looking quiet lovely and desperate. It didn't last long; we were through the intersection in a few seconds. Then we were talking about how sweet marathons are. I dropped Dusty off. And turned around and began towards home.

I can't stop thinking about all of that masculine flesh. All of those contorted dehydrated, suffering faces. Coming right at me. Coming for me

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