Tim

His arms swung wildly in front of him as he panted up the hill. It was more of a miniscule incline but the sweat dripping from his red-jowled face made it look like he was climbing a hill.

I rested against my truck for a moment and watched him. I didn't know why but the whole image just captivated me.

Was it the purposeful swinging of the arms? Did he somehow think that would push his legs to move faster?

Was it the way his determination twisted his face to resemble a pig chewing on razor blades?

I shook myself loose from my enchantment and began walking towards him. He didn't see me. I doubt he saw anything outside whatever thought was floating before him, propelling him up the 'hill' as if it were some invisible oreo dangling from a string that he just couldn't grasp with those ARMS.

I braced myself for the smell of cracker jacks and hotdog weenies on his breath. I wasn't disappointed.

Why is it that every time I know I'm going to confront something that stinks, I actually sniff to make sure the stink is there?

As I approached within a few feet of being ran over, he looked through his attention blindness, recognized me and immediately came to a stop. His belly continue to shift but at least his arms stopped swinging for the moment. They rested on his hips like a momma who has found her children covered in poop and is getting ready to give them what-for.