I have just run through a murder of crows. As I ran through them in my mind I begged them to attack me with their sharp black beaks. My logic for this was based on the hope of two possible outcomes, a) their attack would be so severe that I would have to stop running and lay down, or b) that in terror I would run away faster, and my run would end sooner.
I normally enjoy running, but after last night's 6 Vespa Martini’s, today’s run feels like a barefoot run across broken glass and hot coals, all with the taste of stale vermouth at the back of my throat.
When it became clear the crows had no intention of murder (trade’s description act), I focused my mind on the bacon roll that awaited me at home, not so much carrot and stick, more lard and stick, heavy on the lard.
I promise to run further tomorrow, and have shredded wheat…..deep fried.