Walk in the park [Open]

[ballroombro]

No one's ever gonna keep you down (late June)

Gaju loped uphill, bypassing a straggling morning runner and a woman doing stretches on a little patch of green. He hadn't bothered taking time to slack off his routine, even after (especially after?) he'd woken up here. His typical training regimen back home could fairly be described as 'vomit-inducing' -- it took stamina to last through multiple heats, and it took strength and skill to keep his steps perfectly even while negotiating the delicate balance that was matching a partner's movements.

Most of all, it took self-control not to slug a dude in the face when he smashed into you on the floor. ON. PURPOSE.

He'd already been up for some hours just hitting the basics, so by the time he crossed what he'd decided was the finish line (a dented old lamppost that looked like it had seen better days), he threw his arms up like Leo and topped it off with an enthusiastic fist pump.

"Sh-bam! Ya heard that?!"

On the courts (late June)

Gaju stepped out onto the basketball court, surveying the folded-up bleachers to one side. The high windows, the now-darkened fluorescent overhead lights. Then, with a sudden bowing at the waist, he reached down to take a swipe at the floor with a finger, meeting with a grimace the thin layer of dust thereupon. There was a supply closet at the other end of the gym.

"Awright, it's on!" He made a dash toward the closet, wrenching the door open with more force than was strictly necessary. Inside were whatever supplies no one else had already raided for usefulness, including an oversized push-broom. He seized it, and energetically began dashing across the gym, taking wide swaths of dirt and grime with him.

Under the dust, the once-polished floor of the court shone through in warm, honeyed colors -- visible even in the scant light of the stray sunbeams.

Rattling around town (June 30)

Gaju skirted past a row of run-down apartments, swiping a hand quickly across his brow to shade his eyes against the sun. One fading, dilapidated building looked much like the next, but it seemed like the people back at what he was now considering 'home base' could use a little extra cheer -- whether it came in the form of batteries or not.

He pointed to a structure with peeling paint, blistered from what seemed like an interminable period in the California sun. "I'm gonna go hit that one. You comin', or what?"

Comments

i

[superstringtheory]

"Yeah, and so did everyone and everything in the zip code, probably."

Even if she sounds a little judgmental, she's not that irritated. Yeah, it's a dumb idea to yell and bring down a million zombies on their heads, but he's having a good time. Endorphins are a hell of a drug.

"You win something?"

[ballroombro]

"Beat my old record," said Gaju by way of explanation, swiping at his brow with one sleeve. It was shaping up to be a hot day, so it was all the better to wrap things up early.

"Been about forever since I could run like this. It's nuts."

[superstringtheory]

"I guess that's one benefit of the end of the fucking world, is nobody on your running path."

Except, you know. Zombies maybe. But it's fine. Exercise is important, and this guy strikes her as a potentially fun kind of stupid.

"What was your old record?"

[ballroombro]

"Sixteen thirty-two." At the mention of the zombie apocalypse, Gaju paused for a moment; nothing like being reminded that almost everyone else was dead to take the wild out of the old sails.

He headed up a little hill to a spot where a few scraggly-looking trees provided some partial shade. There was a water bottle propped up under one of them, and Gaju picked it up and took a quick swig.

"...It's weird how quiet it is out here."

[superstringtheory]

Yeah, she's a real buzzkill like that. Sometimes. More often than she used to be.

She frowns a little when he walks away, then jogs to follow him. Oh, water. Not running away from Queen Buzzkill, that's a relief.

"Yeah, it's not right, you know. Even when you're out in the sticks you can usually hear something. Or, you know, back home you could."

[ballroombro]

"Yeah? Where I'm from, you can hardly hear yourself think in the summer. Cicadas." Giant, winged bugs, drunkenly flying around (when they bothered leaving their perches) in the summer, yep.

As an afterthought, he offered her the waterbottle. "Here, ya thirsty?"