Auras

So I guess running, quite literally, into your local pet store isn't the best place to be when you feel like you are losing your mind or out of control?

Spinning around, watching the clusters of goldfish squirm for space while a hand scrawled sign above them marks their tank "feeders," spying a german sheppard in the back pissing on his own two feet of bedding . . . mirrors in cages reflecting the illusion of

There's this phenomena at my gym--an older guy, at least 70?, who works out like a machine. He's quite. Keeps to himself. The rest of us marvel. Us being myself and about twenty senior citizens. Yes, I work out with the old folks. But they are sweet. And have stories--hidden stories I'd wager.

And use of the gym, as far as walking "the indoor track," walking in circles, is free.

Anyway, this guy, who runs up the handicap ramp while I pace, steps up beside and asks, "Are you ok?"

Now, I don't talk to anyone there. Usually. And he certainly does not. When I watch these older men canter, and sometimes limp, around the gym, I often wonder what might happen if they collaspe . . .

"Yeah. I'm cooling down." I answer, red-faced. I only slowed my pace after 30 minutes--do I look like the one who is about to collaspe?

"I apologize--didn't mean to pry--you just look, well, sad. I'm sorry. I wanted to make sure you were ok."

Make sure you were ok.

Just minutes before, feeling the waxed wood of the gym floors through the soles of my shoes, I looked up and saw the wall straight ahead, littered with a bulletin board and pamphlets on health and fitness, and I imagined my chest, along with all desires, burst into shattered pieces of light and pierce the brick of the gym
Just minutes before