I tried to run just like them, the gods of track whose ankles worked as they shimmered before crowds, High School Heroes of ambitious dimension. I plodded desperate for legs, then arms, then breath up the curious street of my youth. My feet slapped ridiculousness as wild elbows jabbed wildly at dreams I didn’t fit — lungs wheezed vapid sissy-fire before an incredulous emptiness — I bent without a friend, alone on the side of the road, and thought: “Speedos are way-sexier than this!”
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