“This is really the end isn’t it, Yon Botendaddy. You finish your research, get your degree like the scarecrow in Wizard of Odds and become a scientist again. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
We sat in front of the Museum. We were doing our stretches. The humidity was staggering.
“I’m not sure I want to run in races anymore. I’ve run 93, I should run seven more to get 100 💯 lifetime. But I’ve lost all motivation. What do I do once I leave the University? I have no purpose.”
She was looking exceptionally hot in her short running shorts.
“You will sit in Utonic Manor, high upon the mountain. Contemplating your ancestors. Brooding melancholy with the Boten-daughter. Reading ancient, hoary tomes, conjuring hideous Kaph with incantations of the fabulous Yog Sothoth. You’ll never marry again, you’ll forget me and my heart ❤️ will 💀 die.”
We ran up the hill into the park. I felt like I was 🏃♀️ 🏃 running fast, but the time was flying by. 9:10 mile, how was that even possible.
“The humidity is awful. Your massive adult diaper is overheating you. Your running is actually getting worse.”
I was watching her ass as we ran. It was incredibly lithe and supple.
“We did lift first, that is tiring in and of itself. I won’t be able to lift there anymore, you know at the University gym. I don’t eat breakfast 🍳 or lunch 🥗 anymore. I’m trying to stay under BMI Normal, but it’s almost impossible.”
19:58 for two miles. Although the entire two miles was uphill. I had nothing. I was hanging on.
“What if we don’t run together anymore. I’ll be done ✅ with my Masters in December. What if you don’t visit me in Washington again?”
The three mile time was awful. I figured we would quit at four miles.
“Maybe we will take a train 🚂 trip together. Amtrak is the best ride in America. We will go up to Montréal Québec, Canada 🇨🇦 . I’ll miss you, at any rate Librarian.”
“Botendaddy, let’s go back to your office and f@&k. It may be the last time we are at the Writers Workshop together. I am madly, passionately romantically in love with you in an early 19th Century Poe-like tragic literary way. I would marry you if you weren’t old, freakish, retarded and Frankensteinian.”
“Mint iced Mocha?”
Peace be the Botendaddy