As I lay comfortably on my couch relaxing I gaze around my apartment. The line of books, tallest to short on my desk. The glitztening, clean, wooden floor, reflecting the orange glow from my salt lamp, with the soft bass from Miguel, "Simple Things" in the background. If I had a glass of whiskey it would be great, but some cold, lemon water will do.
This morning I was at Wal-Mart picking up some essentials for a sick friend. You know, Advil, oranges, vitamin C, and of course Kleenex with lotion. Next walking a friends dog.
I thought it was time my 2 month sabbatical from running was over, and maybe lower my binge t.v. And Miss Vikie intake, so it felt good running at the gym. I'm not a gym rat, but I can understand why people live like that. Heart pumping, all sweaty, muscles relaxed, mind at ease.
Then off to work. I didn't bring a supper but my coworker shared his steak with me. Maybe a bit of karma for me helping my friend. Now I'm here. On my couch.
Since we don't know each other at all a public place to meet would be wise. I personally don't want to wake up tied to a chair with my wallet missing. Let's meet at the art gallery. Bring your phone and we'll text each other clues to who and where we are, trying to guess. If you see me and want out you could always pass yourself off as the chubby lady in the poka dot dress and silently slip away laughing to yourself at how clever you are.