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Running in Philadelphia encourages the soul

Running in Philadelphia I get to see the people sleeping on the sides of the train tracks, the man who looked like a black Jesus who ate a sandwich he found. He waved at me but I ignored him. On the way back his clear eyes met mine and I said hey…hey…keep on running. Keep on hiding on abandoned mattress you keep in the grass. Her head was covered by a red hoodie appeared like a solemn monk possessing a chalice of wine but it was something else that caught the attention of a man who leaned in close. Other joggers were running the opposite way. I was the late solo on the street who wanted to go as far as possible before turning around. Up the steps to the museum I glanced back at the grey clouds covering the tips of the buildings, their workers shrouded in the mist and far up from the street. Around the building I could feel the pains in my legs but pushed further. I was not stopping especially when a group of young women - cross country runners - were there. No…impress the younger generation and prove you still got it. There were no hoots. I don’t know if I still have anything, but I kept going, past the old school crew buildings, missing an awkward bicyclist with wobbly front tire, shaking hands. Get the fuck off the path until you know how to ride a bike, besides there are others who need to run by you. Wobbly head with a helmet. The Schuykill River held the faint fog, light wisps
of cool moisture merged in the warm morning air. Two - eight men crew teams were out practicing, their coach yelling into a megaphone…ready? Row….four… you can do better than that….that was a mile and I turned around, passed the statues and monuments…other joggers like the large black woman who I passed earlier and who sung something out loud to all of us within her proximity. She looked like a star from a soap opera which was cancelled ten years ago. Passed the Rocky statue and remember feeling inspired to box when I saw that movie. Each time I run this course I think of the movie, leaving the house before the sun is up an back to crack some eggs into a glass and drink it down. In fact I saw a boxer this time, running side to side sporting a gray sweat suit. He swung out his hands. Go Rock! Before I headed back to the hotel I stopped in the cathedral and lit a candle in front of the St Patrick statue. Next week this time Ma and I will be in Atlanta. Back to running. Each time I run back to the hotel I see the insane freaks who talk to themselves, run in the middle of traffic or just the smoking office workers who watch out for the women….they hunt for the next beautiful thing while I passed them with one eye open, the burning, the dripping out the intoxicants through sweat.


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