I walked home from work yesterday. This break in the heat has been very nice and I’m looking forward to this autumn and especially to this winter, especially since we’re supposed to get lots of snow.
When I walk home from work, I usually go straight up to 21st, jog just a tad east on Florida, then continue up Connecticut. Sometimes I detour into Kalorama. I like the Spanish steps.
Yesterday, for whatever reason (i.e., I wanted to browse Second Story Books’ books), I went up 20th Street directly to Connecticut. I was on the west side of the street, crossed R, and was passing the bus stop on my right – one of those big glass ones – and these two women were coming the other way on the street, and this runner, this fucking runner, man, shirt off, big and burly, but he was right behind them and coming down the sidewalk pretty damn fast and had this “fuck you, I’m not stopping” expression on his face.
I stopped. I don’t know why. I guess because colliding with a giant sweaty asshole isn’t my idea of a good way to start a free evening. He skidded over to his left as far as he could, then in the rapidly closing space between where I had stopped and the ladies were walking, he hopped through and continued running.
Pretty sure flying sweat got both me, and those women.
I made it home without further incident. Meanwhile, I’m kind of hoping that runner got hit by a bus or something.