Warm Up

“Get in.” She reaches over and opens the passenger side door. But James continues walking as if pretending to not hear or see her. “I said, get in.” This time she’s sure he’s heard her.

Without slowing or stopping, James glances at her from the corners of his eyes and starts to sprint along the side of the barren road.

“That bastard.” She relinquishes the modest pressure she’s been applying to the brakes and chases after him, but carefully as to not accidentally run him over.

#

His winter coat restricts his movements, keeping his arms steady at his sides while his legs work overtime. He’s listening to his favorite pop artist, but soon the music is overtaken by his panting as his headphones slide down, hugging his neck. Tiffany honks the horn and pleads for him to stop, to be rational.

He can feel himself slowing down. Cold sweat gathers at the edge of his hairline, threatening to jump down his face. His body chooses to stop, and he rests with his back bent forward, hands on knees, as he wipes the perspiration with his sleeves. He was never the athletic type.