The Strongman and The Model

The Strongman and the Model come into gym class late everyday. The Strongman, as one would expect, was very muscular. His arms, bulky. His jaw, set. His girlfriend, one would swear was a supermodel or otherwise a mystical health goddess. The Model’s hair was the straightest, blondest hair I’ve ever seen. Her clothes, most fashionable. Her figure, always thin. Together they sit in the corner cuddling, whispering and basking in their mutual laziness.

It must have been half way through class when The Strongman walked in. His black Nike drawstring hanging loosely on his right shoulder. His other hand clutched a large Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee. Unfortunately, he walked right into the middle of a rather intense volleyball game and was struck with tremendous force by a rouge ball. The Strongman’s coffee fell to the floor with a “splat”. He stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. His face blank per usual. I abandoned my own game and ran out of the class completely, fetching clumps of paper towels to help The Strongman. I knelt down, pressing the cheap material into the sweet smelling liquid.

“Hey,” he muttered. I didn’t answer. Instead, I caught sight of the bundle of napkins in his hands and snatched them to clear up the quickly spreading mocha lake. The Dunkin’ Donuts logo fading rapidly into the melting ice. The Strongman repeated his phrase a few times until bending at the knee and grabbing my wrist. He spoke my name and mumbled, “You’re good.” I wasn’t sure if he meant that the mess had been cleared or if he was simply telling me that I was a good person. Regardless, I nodded. He nodded knowingly back and we parted ways.

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