He stopped to catch his breath. A brief respite from the exercise that filled his lungs with fire. I haven't jogged in months... He thought to himself... I have no business doing this sort of thing. He caught himself staring at the San Diego sunset to the west, slowly caressing his beard, plotting his next move. He never had a problem growing facial hair, unlike his friend to the north. He stared at his reflection in the water below him, pleased with what he saw. A young man of twenty-one years. Some would call him Mexican, but he knew better; a proud Cuban communist would never allow such a mistake to go unnoticed, but he had other things on his mind for tonight. He checked his watch and slowly began his trek back towards his apartment. Little did he know of the surprise that awaited him back home.
The three-point-seven mile return trip yielded little more than idle thoughts and a burgeoning pulse of pain in his right knee. I never should have stopped smoking, he droned. But thinking about cigarettes and other trivialities aided him in dismissing from his mind the torrential downpour of sadness still present in his heart from months before. That hedgehog was the best friend I ever had.
He ended his run with a sprint to the staircase of his apartment. For twenty seconds he was both cheetah and gazelle. Running from a darkness no one could fathom and chasing the one animal to satisfy all needs and cravings, halting abruptly, creating the amalgam of light and dark named Harvey Whitman. Light-headed and wobbly, the stairs provided some difficulty for Harvey. Bending down to unlace the shoe carrying the key to his kingdom, Harvey parked himself against the exterior wall and began stroking his beard again in a most self-satisfying sort of way. What was once a pitiful goatee, smug and almost unpropitious - if a goatee could be called such a thing - now showed black strands covering most of his face. At least he never had a faux hawk.
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