I couldn't have looked worse. Strands of hair were falling out of ponytail and my forehead was lined with beads of perspiration. I was dressed in an over-sized T-shirt made to commemorate the camaraderie I had with my friends in junior college. My shorts were supposedly branded but had a missing drawstring; so it was hanging loosely on my hips - I couldn't run too fast - the shorts would drop for sure. I probably looked mad but I didn't care. It is 2013.
To cool down my body which hardly warmed up in the first place, I stepped up onto the turntable of the workout machine. I started to turn from right to left, left to right, twisting my body lightly and singing "The man who can't be moved" and "Don't look back in anger". I was clearly not self-conscious at all. A little boy who was just right opposite me was twisting his little and lithe body on another turntable. He looked at me in awe and wonder and started singing as well. It was gibberish but it was enough to show that he has music in him.
He laughed and sang and continued looking at me. I shielded my eyes from the last rays of the afternoon sun but I could still see the bundle of joy. His eyes were bright.
Two crazy people were laughing and singing but the neighbourhood was not watching and judging.
Break and mend hearts, little boy.
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