I’m a Believer?

The Almighty, Lord of Hosts, or whatever Near Eastern tribal deity you prefer, the one who is really, really worried about really petty shit, apparently attempted to win my approval, by frying a jogger wearing one of those annoying little mp3 players.

The best I’ve ever managed was brandishing a weapon at a jogger who scared the hell out of me at 2:30 am in West Park. Maybe it’s the result of a guilty conscience, but there’s something really unsettling about people running up behind you.

A forearm to the back really gets the attention of well-fed, well heeled commuters, who don’t respond to “excuse me” on the bus, because they’re too busy listening to whatever the hell it is they’re listening to. Hurling thunderbolts? I wish.

Nothing against exercise or storing a pile of music in a little tiny gadget, but a little consideration won’t hurt.

It’ll take a little more to get an altar call out of me…


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