I left after the last sprint this morning quick.
Just coasted around to the stop sign, 7 done. Good ones, full efforts, Hard to the line.
My mind, soupy, as if, I'd drank one of them big 50's restaurant drinks, a Volcano, full of tasty booze, meant for two.
I waited at the light, crossed, filled my bottle, and headed out of the city, swimming up stream,
against the a.m. flow in.
the rowers, were Eakins, coming alive, with the back light, the breeze a vanilla malt,
the women, going by, I swear each one looked at me in the eye, a bit of evil, a lot of lust,
I kept falling in love
I cut the grass pulled weeds drank a beer put down mulch took a nap to head out to a ball game on a pleasant night with friends.
I was justifiably reward for my hard work.
7 hard sprints, to the line.
got some new kicks, made of Tyvek, very pleasant, does the trick.