Winn Dixie ain’t Publix. Anyone can tell you that. It is a second-tier grocery store hanging on to a dwindling market. That’s probably why the Wrecking Ball and I felt so comfortable lounging in their plastic chairs. Permanent “B” group riders, the also-rans, the Mister Congenialities of competition. Everybody else seems to have peaked in August, and I took the month off the bike. Wrecking Ball is discouraged, I have been otherwise engaged. We both feel like we are perpetually healing and never well.
We talked about nutrition, and sleep, and brilliant green chlorophyll dumps. We talked about hating people because they are beautiful, or maybe just for acting like they are beautiful. We talked about being hopeless and drinking the mistakes- sitting at the end of a bar. We have both seen worse times than this.
Things are looking up for me lately, really up- so up I have a crick in my neck. I don’t have much to complain about, and neither does the Wrecking Ball, but we would never let that stop us.