Still technically morning. Walked eleven miles, ran 2600 stairs. Did a lot of work and planning in my head. Including work on Meatheads Part II. That's not the name of it, but it's what I'm doing, or will do, allowing that someone will do it with me. Shoving this guy into COVID stuff, trans issues, BLM, protests, as Chad is now a middle-aged parent, but still a bro. Same deal as before. Short, satirical novel. But different. I started setting up the chapters on my way back. I do so much work in my head.
Also on the return trip, I hopped on the C Line at Cleveland Circle. This family got on a bunch of stops later, and they were from out of town and had never been on the T before. They commented on a bunch of things about it. If you've been on the T, you know that at the end of the first car, there are three steps. They're kind of in the middle of everything. There are no more steps after them. The family gets on, they're looking for seats, not really paying attention to anything else, and the little girl is standing at the top of these steps not holding anything. Which means that not only will she be launched when the T starts, but she'll be launched down the three steps. I was ready for this! I caught the little girl before she could fall, and then some people got up and the family sat down. A really tall guy--say, 6'7''--was sitting next to the girl and they both seemed to notice at the same time that they had on somewhat similar looking sandals. The guy said, "You have little feet." The girl has this big smile on her face, but she tucks her head into her mother's shoulder. The mom says, "She's shy." But the guy is not done. He says, "I have big feet." Then adds, "It'd be weird if I had little feet." Which was pretty funny. He gets off at the next stop, wishes the family a good day, and as soon as he's on the platform, the little girl turns to her mom with this expression on her face of being very much impressed, and says, "He was so powerful," stretching out the syllables.
I struggled on the Boston College stairs. It wasn't pretty. I should go out and walk a little more. I feel like a pig man. Right as I was about to start running the stairs, I said to myself, "In four years, your life will be half over." Because I plan to push to at least 100, allowing that this changes. "And you'll have all of that time, to create, to impact this world, to change it to the good, to reap, to be in Rockport, to be on Cape Cod, because you did things like this God knows how many times. So fucking do it again, bitch." And then I start running.
Tuckered out here mid-stair session. I almost bailed after five. Yes, I'm ashamed.
Let's face it: I need that Bunker Hill Monument to open up again.
This was a turkey who stared me down in Brookline. Duel at Gobble Lane!
Which, as one can see, did not materialize. We just walked past each other.
But then he let out what I presumed was this (unearned) victory gobble, so I went back and stoned him. That last part isn't true. Everything else was, though.
Earl Palmer drums his ass off on Larry Williams' "Dizzy Miss Lizzy." Figured it had to be Palmer, and just checked, and yeah, it's him. Sounds like he's chucking dozens of old suitcases--that hard kind you carry--down the stairs. Stairs are a theme today, I see.
Going back out for additional exercise. Back soon enough.