Running

I'm running through the jungle, my long beard unfurling behind me. I'm red and naked and I am running. In the jungle. A tribe of natives dance around a fire and burn incense. They have painted naked bodies covered in ash. I pass them at a tremendous speed. Also, there are bongo drums there. There are bongo drums in my head. Throbbing. I am running through the jungle, not away from something but towards something. A great big hippy love revolution--minus the hippies. Freedom. Paradise restored. I am running to the garden of Eden. My heart throbs. Everything throbs. Hey--ha. Hey-ha. Drums. Smoke. Light up ahead. Hey--ha. I am running through a jungle red and naked towards something big.

"Oh man. What happened to my music (Shpongle)? Battery dead?" I look at my iPod. "Yep batteries dead." I slow down my pace.

I am jogging on a treadmill. My whiskers itch. I'm in sweatpants at the YMCA, jogging, like a hamster in his wheel. In a cage. A group of people resolute on losing weight for the new year are walking like hamsters all around me. I hear a dull hum of machinery in motion. I look out the window in front of me and see the evening commute four stories below. I'm jogging on a conveyer belt and my iPod is out of juice.

"F#@! the music." I push the up arrow on the treadmill and build speed. 7 point eight. Point nine. Eight point one. Two. Three. I am running. I am running towards something big. Eight point four. Point five. I am running through a jungle. There are bongos. I am running through a jungle and there is a light up ahead. Hey--ha! Towards something big.