They’re repaving the roads in DC. They’re always repaving. I’m running in a quiet neighborhood and suddenly it’s loud. Trucks, orange cones, grinders. And twenty men in various stages of bored. If no one was looking, I’d run through the freshly poured tar, let it stick to my shoes until it pulled me down and made me the tar monster, haunter of Sixteenth Street Heights. But there are twenty men looking, so I turn right. It’s not my path. I have four set running paths and this is supposed to be one of them, but now I have to turn to the right. And when I try to cross the street further down, they yell, “No lady no!” And tell me to go even further out of my way. I wish I could say, “Excuse me, sirs, but I’d like to turn my brain off.” But I go even further out of my way instead, jumping over shoe prints in the sidewalk concrete, to run along a major thoroughfare, where they’re painting the streets red.
No lady no!
No lady no!
No lady no!
They’re repaving the roads in DC. They’re always repaving. I’m running in a quiet neighborhood and suddenly it’s loud. Trucks, orange cones, grinders. And twenty men in various stages of bored. If no one was looking, I’d run through the freshly poured tar, let it stick to my shoes until it pulled me down and made me the tar monster, haunter of Sixteenth Street Heights. But there are twenty men looking, so I turn right. It’s not my path. I have four set running paths and this is supposed to be one of them, but now I have to turn to the right. And when I try to cross the street further down, they yell, “No lady no!” And tell me to go even further out of my way. I wish I could say, “Excuse me, sirs, but I’d like to turn my brain off.” But I go even further out of my way instead, jumping over shoe prints in the sidewalk concrete, to run along a major thoroughfare, where they’re painting the streets red.