The rime of the ancient mariner
July 28, 2005

A Tale of Two Joggers:


Sunday I went shopping with The Mom. We made the turn off Alla Road onto the Marina Freeway and a little old dude went jogging down Culver Boulevard wearing nothing but baggy navy swimming trunks. Brown as a nut, a fine crop of snowy hair all over his back and chest, hanging down from his chin and blowing on top of his head—though a little thin up there. In this heat, I worried for his health because not a lick of shade exists anywhere around there, but he looked like he did this kind of thing every day. Very buff for an ancient mariner, really in quite good shape—but jogging real slow and heading out on a part of Culver that's isolated as it heads towards the bridge over Lincoln Boulevard and on into the wetlands. Eventually, if he kept heading that way, he'd make it to the beach at Playa del Rey.  

Maybe two hours later I'm heading back down Culver on my way home from mom's place in Westchester—and there's the ancient mariner in almost exactly the same place I saw him before near the Marina freeway, only jogging the other way. Same pace, slow and steady, but much sweatier—and his navy trunks were seriously wet. I didn't know, actually, if he was just that sweaty of if he'd taken a dip somewhere. I definitely hoped for the latter.  


Driving home last night, a tall, handsome young man with shoulder-length dark blonde hair, tan, great body—really well-cut pecs, and abs that were nice, but not too overdone, if you know what I mean...What was I saying? Oh, nothing to report there. He just gave me the shivers, that's all. In a good way. Handsome Guy jogged on the shady side of the street, unlike the ancient mariner.

Copyright © 2010 P.J. Thompson