I swear to God, if you don’t get the fuck away from me, I’m going to do something you’re gonna regret.
I tried my best not to pay any mind to the dancing man at the end of the aisle. Taking my time restocking the shelves with brand new wine bottles that arrived today, each bottle clinking as the glass hits one another, I made it my mission not to give this man any of my time or attention when I was actually trying to work.
* * * * *
I sped down the bustling city streets at twenty miles an hour on my electric scooter, making sharp, hard turns onto new streets and even more traffic, openly ignoring red lights if I knew I’d make it, and yelling at pedestrians to move when they proudly stood in the bike lane. Along the way, while I stopped at a red light that was too packed with cars to pass, I chatted with a biker. Turns out he was preparing himself for the upcoming city triathlon, and that he was biking for the last two hours nonstop.
He pointed down and my eyes followed, noticing his bulging thigh resting on the bike peddle. My eyes widened when I saw the massive vein protruding from the side, ready to burst if I poked it with my fingernail.
“Well goddamn,” I said in awe. “This must what the body looks like when you’re training for something so intense.”
The man laughed with pride, flexing his thigh, “Two-hour bike rides every day for the last seven years. My legs are more ripped than a body builder’s arm.”
It looks like it’s filled with more steroids, too, I thought.
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