Running on (an) Empty (closet)

Today I hung around Charles Village after my youth shelter training to work. I walked to Chipotle, and it was good.



I walked to Starbucks, and it was very good.












I walked back, emailed out a good portion of my work to my boss, and it was excellent. THEN, strolling back to grab a chicken parmesan sandwich for S, a shirtless, shiny man with skin tight, micro-mini bike shorts under equally short black and white camo wind-breaker shorts that, I'm sorry, can not really be called anything other than HOT pants whizzed by us. Now, runners are quite common in CV, and even on the busy, narrow, commercial street we were on with a ton of college kids, bar goers, baby strollers and puppies, people tend to like to run there. And I guess with the marathon coming up in October, this will only become more of a phenomenon. But hot pants?

Where would someone even acquire such an outfit? It's not that I am judging to be judgmental. It's just that this speedy, nipple-and-belly-button-showing creature caught us off guard, and I could not for the life of me keep from laughing. And then, on the way back home, who should shoot back into our vision, sprinting the other way? Of course. In the breezy, mid-60s, overcast weather, there he was.

I never saw his face.