So today, me and Nina went for a drive (I'd been saving up for a month and a half to buy a gallon of gas), and on the way home, she pointed out some dude running down the sidewalk. "Look at that guy."
There was this man, one of those guys with absolutely zero percent body fat--like a swimmer's body--dressed all in bright dayglow yellow, out for a run. But there was something strange about the way he was running. He was keeping his arms in a fixed position and was only using his lower legs to propel him, in some kind of exercising method of movement that was utterly alien . . . unless you've ever pooped your pants before. It was like he was literally clenching his buttocks for dear life while he ran, and it was one of the most bizarre things I'd ever seen (and I've used the public transport system in Los Angeles).
We watched him until the light changed, but I probably could've sat there and watched him go, marveling until he disappeared into the distance.
"Gotta admire the dedication of that man," Nina said. "He was just raped and yet he still gets out there and does his daily run."
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