Sunday, February 2, 2014

Sometimes These Things Practically Write Themselves

While we stand at the stoplight, the woman jogs by and stops just in front of us bouncing, running in place. She looks like your typical winter jogger - black tights, black tight top made of spongy-looking, wetsuit type material, bright shoelaces on styrofoam and space-age materials shoes.

Katie steps forward without a word, and gently, precisely, plucks a single thick string off the back of the woman's top without actually touching her.

She steps back to my side, satisfied look on her face, twisting the string between her forefinger and thumb, and I shake my head, saying, "Well, there's my four each day."

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