Sitting at the library pub, which isn't a dyslexic term for public library. That shit went out the wayside when the cold fronts began and coats with bottle-portable pockets became an every day necessity.
Studying as I was, a young woman walked my way. To my right were some vacant computer terminals. I dressed in my long-sleeved grey sweatshirt and exercise pants had my nose buried in my testing notes, though I'd be lying if I said she didnt strike my fancy. She herself was decked out in running garments; a bit tight, I might say.
I suppose disgusted her a bit. She made a quick b-line to the vacant terminals on the other side of the room. I wasn't offended; I'm used to disgusting the general public. They disgust me more times in a day than a gonzo porno playing in a catholic convent. I don't think "love thy neighbor" meant sticking dildo drills and analbeads into frumpy, nerve damaged orifices of women that look like your niece.
Soon though, a slender, uptight, well dressed man found his way to the same station as the lady runner, occupying the vacant terminal next to her. It got me to thinking - - hope she doesn't mind passing up the scruffy looking gentleman who would have left her alone for the suit and tie, serial killer the media has dubbed The Wound Fucker. He slices his victims; bores holes in them, and then molests the wounds.
Either that, or they're going gonzo right now.
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