“When I can back from the war the first time, Annabel Lee met me at the airport. We didn’t have the Boten-Daughter yet. Annabel dressed in white, cynically waving a little American flag like Marsha Mason in ‘Heartbreak Ridge’.”
We stretched at the trailhead.
“You miss her terribly, don’t you? It’s romantic, hopeless and melancholy. Like Poe. I wonder if anyone will ever love me like that.” Said the Librarian wistfully.
“I’m sure you could find a love like that, but maybe you are avoiding a serious relationship. Thats why people hang out with me. I’m like the shitty third-floor flop room in a shitty, cheap, street-front hotel in a forgotten two-bit industrial lake town of dashed hopes and broken dreams of a lost generation of losers, punks, pimps, bums, hookers, Palookas, addicts, fruits, fairies, dykes, mobsters, cripples, hobos, drifters and shitty unshaven pulp-novel writers, stepping over some shitty passed-out bum reeking of shit-covered Sterno™, while you’re living in a dilapidated room with paint peeling off the walls, shitty cockroaches scurrying across the floor, a half-lit neon sign pulsating outside your broken window, a single bare bulb burning overhead, lying in a pool of your own or somebody else’s vomit, a revolver in one pocket and a deck of cards in the other, waking up with your pants pulled down and your anus covered with a sticky substance, almost as if you took a United Flight…”
“Botendaddy, I have no idea what you just said, but it sounds like some kind of Late 1940’s gay, film-noir detective movie.” Mentioned the Librarian impatiently.
Her body was super hot and hard. I’m not sure why she would wear spandex on a warmish day, but to each their own.
It was cool, almost warm outside. It looked and sounded like Springtime. We ran the first mile in an atrocious 9:30, but we ran 19:43 for the second.
“Charmin put a creepy ad about bears making bowel movements on my Twitter account. Talk about invalidation of my aura, like WTF? So the message is that my Twitter site is bowel movement. I’m a scientist damnit!” I told the Librarian.
“You’re a stupid fucktard, Botendaddy. What’s up with the massive diaper? You’re going to overheat in that thing.”
We ran hard and we made the third mile by 29:50 and the 5k in 30:50. Not terrible.
We ran a full four mile in about 40:50.
“Botendaddy? You should make love to me in my decked-out air-conditioned conversion van. Somebody should. I yearn for you tragically. I love you against all reason. You love me too, in your own weird way I suppose.
Peace be the Botendaddy