Lazarus

Lost in a daze. I reach for a hand towel to wipe the sweat from my brow. The trainers line up in a row. There are so many vivacious people around. I like to lose myself in the crowd, and avoid eye contact at all times. It was a month bender this time. The poison escapes through my pores with each mile on the unforgiving treadmill. I choose not to watch television because it makes me focus on the pain. 

The sandman whispered to me that I would never make it past 31. Four more miles according to the machine. I wish my twenties were a bad dream and that I would wake up. Some girl looks at me while rivulets of perspiration pour down my face and onto my over sized gray shirt

"Hey." She says.

My ears perk up at the notion of a conversation. Most people do not appreciate the value of human interaction. 

"You drop your towel?"

"No I just forgot to pick one up."

"I brought an extra one just in case."

"Thanks."

"You're Welcome."

The janitorial staff breeze by spraying down the exercise equipment with vigor. They look like they are Hispanic, but I was never adept at discerning cultural backgrounds with just a simple glance. One of them reminds me of my Grandmother. Her eyes seem kind.

I barely make my train. There is a girl singing and strumming a second hand guitar on the platform. Few people are interested despite her engaging presence. I put my headphones instead of saying hello. Some lousy idiot sits next to me. He is very obese. A young couple take off at Milwaukee Avenue, and I take both their chairs. I sprawl and put my bag down in the vacant seat next to me.