Tail

There was a dead dog by the roadside. I saw him on my way home from work. It was a large German Shepherd. Not horribly mangled, ripped open, or splayed out, just dead on his side. No visible blood from my vantage point. Head turned at an odd angle, by the side of the road. Cars were passing quickly and frequently, very close to the dog. So close that the draft coming off of them made his tail move slightly. It looked like it was wagging, barely, sadly and lethargically. It looked like he thought he still might be able to convince somebody to help him, like his situation could still be fixed. In that way, he exemplified the unbreakable spirit of a dog. Even when his predicament was beyond hope, even in death, he was optimistic.

Gym Friends

Periodically I make new friends at the gym, normally with guys with whom I have very little else in common. They’re great guys, but there’s really not much I can talk about with them. Generally, the guys you find in any given weight room are very into sports and not much for art, music, literature, or poetry. I’m pretty sure that I’m the only powerlifting art fag in North America. At least that’s the case around here, in Pittsburgh. You couldn’t pay me to watch sports. I just don’t care. Besides that, I really don’t go to the gym to socialize. I like to hit the weights hard and get out quickly. Regardless, I was shocked this past Saturday morning when a visibly excited guy came over to me, asking about my tattoos. I’ve got Renee Descartes’ “Cogito” tattooed inside my right bicep, and an icon that I drew up representing Occam’s razor on my right shoulder. Apparently this guy has a Ph.D. in philosophy, and has been teaching it in Belgium for the past six years. You don’t often find philosophy geeks in the gym. Not really art or literature, but close enough for me. It was a fun conversation, him leading, me trying to keep up. I got my ass handed to me. It was magnificent.

The Locker Room

The locker room at the gym smells like sweat, shit, and Right Guard. It doesn’t smell at all like the failing air freshener that’s plugged into the wall. Naked old men are walking about. The air is so humid that you can very nearly float in it. I’m thinking it’s a good time to jump on the scale, because I’ll probably be lighter because of that humidity. I do, but I’m not. When I get out to hit the weights, the air is so comparably clean that I feel like I’m about to do my chest workout on top of a mountain.

The Bouncer at the Tiki Lounge

I was on my way out the door after a few beers, my wife behind me. We were cutting through the crowd efficiently and with trained purpose. Some girls were trying to come in at the same time that we were trying to leave. The first one handed me her driver’s license, looked me in the eye, and smiled. She was very pretty. I’m always happy to have pretty young girls hand me things in bars and smile at me. I was, however, slightly confused by the gesture. A sad and pathetic part of me hoped that she wanted me to ravage her, and she was proving that she was of legal age before taking me back to her place. Perhaps just laying eyes on me from ten feet out was all she needed to see before giving herself to me? Then the rational portion of my mind took over, and my immediate confusion gave way to disappointed amusement, as I realized that I’d just been mistaken for the bouncer. I smiled, handed it back, nodded, and motioned for them all to come in. They smiled back and walk in. Then we continued out the door.

The End of Time

This morning was the end of time. It was majestically overcast and gray. The sky was huge, and not at all claustrophobic or crowded, as overcast skies tend to be. The air was cool, but not cold. The sun didn’t have the energy to fight the crushing nihilism of the clouds. It wasn’t in the mood to work hard, and none of the rest of us were, either.