She passes me on the left: fur-lined, hooded jacket, jeans with giant yellow and red flowers embroidered on the cuffs tucked into her boots, striding fast.
Though she's enough faster than me to stay in front, she's not quite fast enough to beat the lights, so at each stoplight, I end up standing awkwardly next to her, or just back from her left shoulder. I'm careful not to pass her, but I can feel my usual competitive spirit getting riled.
One year ago: Standing O
Two years ago: (Not) Going My Way
Three years ago: It's a Living
Four years ago: Stars Don't Care
Ten years ago: Trying Too Hard
Post a Comment