My Feet are on the Ground

Resistance with a side of hummus and other musings about this next chapter of our lives together in these so-called United States

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I heard him before I saw him, heavy, squishing footsteps painted a picture in my head before he passed me. A large man was walking up behind me on the greenway trail. A woman on the other side peered out from her hoodie at him. 

“Good morning!” He said breathlessly to her.

She raised a hand, but was looking at me. 

“Good morning!” He huffed out as he passed my meandering steps. 

I didn’t reply to him just like I hadn’t replied to the other dozen or so people going the other way that morning. I’d finally emerged from my house and was trying desperately to return to my body. I have a magnificent resting bitch face I’m told, and I was literally looking away from people as they passed, and they still intruded with their good mornings. 

He got a couple hundred feet ahead of me and I guess reached his step goal or whatever, because he suddenly turned around like a warplane coming back for another strafing run. 

“Have a great day!” He exhaled heavily as he squished back the other wa…