Post by Dmitriy Khiteev on May 27, 2012 2:33:17 GMT -5
Hay que empezar…de cero…para tocar…el cielo…
Some asshole was playing music. The morning was glorious, the mid-day heat hadn’t yet set in to broil, and Dmitriy didn’t have work for another whole beautiful twenty-four hours.
And some asshole was playing music.
Shakira. Right? Was that it? Fucking had to be. Didn’t Lucy like that shit?
Waka waka… Fuck if he knew what it was saying. Probably something hot, he’d seen pictures of the singer, that shit was smoking. When that shit wasn’t a she-wolf, at least. Or, well. Wait. Was that just one of her songs?
Whatever. Probably sexy lyrics, definitely something in there about muppets.
Blah blah…blah…blah blah something blah…blah blah this is Africa!
Dmitiry craned his neck to peer around the park, bobbing from foot to foot. Alright. It was almost nine, there would have to be someone showing up soon. Very likely someone of the male, female, or none/other persuasion. Probably a human of some variety, unless palm trees had up and gotten mobile on him.
Of course, it might have helped if he had any idea what this mystery runner actually looked like.
Just giving out his own description to some stranger on Craigslist probably hadn’t been the best move, in hindsight. Dmitriy had to confess that he hadn’t really thought that part through all that well when he’d posted an ad for a jogging partner a few weeks back. Had pretty much forgotten about it by the time someone finally accepted.
Look for the guy in the green hoodie and flame patterned shorts. While you’re at it, please don’t go and serial murder him. That would blow.
Did serial killers even make it a habit to jog? He might be able to put up with it, as long as their extracurricular activities didn’t turn in his direction. Like that blonde guy from that TV show – the one who murdered murderers or whatever. Didn’t he jog? That could work out.
Yeah, a serial killer would be okay, as long as they could keep up with the pace. That was the important bit. And anyway he was pretty sure Bundy didn’t jog. Did he?
A question for Wikipedia later.
Dmitriy pulled the bright green hood up and over his forehead, shadowing eyes of a slightly muddier shade. The shifter had yet to fully eradicate the previous evening’s headache, but that didn’t seem to matter so much right now. After all, the sun was shining, and the park was bustling with activity. There was even potentially sexy muppet music playing. Life was good.
…Esto es para África…
Mouthing the words would have been undignified and require that he actually know the lyrics, so Dmitriy settled for a loud mumbled hum as he scuffed his feet in little circles in the grass. He swayed from side to side, leaning into the movement as his arms grooved along to the beat.
It could possibly be described as a ‘shimmy’. Or at least a really terrible attempt at one.
Some asshole was playing music. The morning was glorious, the mid-day heat hadn’t yet set in to broil, and Dmitriy didn’t have work for another whole beautiful twenty-four hours.
And some asshole was playing music.
Shakira. Right? Was that it? Fucking had to be. Didn’t Lucy like that shit?
Waka waka… Fuck if he knew what it was saying. Probably something hot, he’d seen pictures of the singer, that shit was smoking. When that shit wasn’t a she-wolf, at least. Or, well. Wait. Was that just one of her songs?
Whatever. Probably sexy lyrics, definitely something in there about muppets.
Blah blah…blah…blah blah something blah…blah blah this is Africa!
Dmitiry craned his neck to peer around the park, bobbing from foot to foot. Alright. It was almost nine, there would have to be someone showing up soon. Very likely someone of the male, female, or none/other persuasion. Probably a human of some variety, unless palm trees had up and gotten mobile on him.
Of course, it might have helped if he had any idea what this mystery runner actually looked like.
Just giving out his own description to some stranger on Craigslist probably hadn’t been the best move, in hindsight. Dmitriy had to confess that he hadn’t really thought that part through all that well when he’d posted an ad for a jogging partner a few weeks back. Had pretty much forgotten about it by the time someone finally accepted.
Look for the guy in the green hoodie and flame patterned shorts. While you’re at it, please don’t go and serial murder him. That would blow.
Did serial killers even make it a habit to jog? He might be able to put up with it, as long as their extracurricular activities didn’t turn in his direction. Like that blonde guy from that TV show – the one who murdered murderers or whatever. Didn’t he jog? That could work out.
Yeah, a serial killer would be okay, as long as they could keep up with the pace. That was the important bit. And anyway he was pretty sure Bundy didn’t jog. Did he?
A question for Wikipedia later.
Dmitriy pulled the bright green hood up and over his forehead, shadowing eyes of a slightly muddier shade. The shifter had yet to fully eradicate the previous evening’s headache, but that didn’t seem to matter so much right now. After all, the sun was shining, and the park was bustling with activity. There was even potentially sexy muppet music playing. Life was good.
…Esto es para África…
Mouthing the words would have been undignified and require that he actually know the lyrics, so Dmitriy settled for a loud mumbled hum as he scuffed his feet in little circles in the grass. He swayed from side to side, leaning into the movement as his arms grooved along to the beat.
It could possibly be described as a ‘shimmy’. Or at least a really terrible attempt at one.
