Daily Prompt really likes assigning these 10 minute nonstop writing sessions when Ducksauce is here at work.
“Hey man,” she said to me, upon her arrival into the department. “What’s that smell?”
Luckily, it’s not perfumed fish, like last week, and it’s a scent I readily admit responsibility to.
“It’s Ben Gay,” I said. “I’m sore. Ran 7 miles last night.”
“Holy crap dude, why?”
“Because I love it.”
“Well, I love sex, but it doesn’t mean I go on binges, dude.”
I snorted into my coffee, then coughed. “Well, why ever not?”
“Because, you know, you gotta pace yourself. Go the distance.”
I’m not sure what this has to do with anything, but I go with it.
“Maybe it’s endurance training,” I said. “You know… so I can go the distance. When it comes to be that time.”
I’m ambiguous, but I don’t care. I am honestly not even sure I know what the hell I’m talking about. I’m tired and sore. My thighs feel strained, and my lower back aches in the bone.
“Well, what about that guy?” she said. I hear her thumping down her epic large handbag and rummage around in it. I am guessing she’s looking for her tea bags. Moments later, the scent of chai brewing wafts to my cubicle.
“I don’t know. That guy you went out with.”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “Not happening. Way too into this other chick that he claims is just a friend.”
“No? That’s a bummer.”
“Not really. It’s kind of obvious, from an outsider opinion, that they’re into each other. And there was no way I’d be able to compete with her.” I rub some more of the menthol cream into the small of my back. Its cooling powers provide some temporary relief.
“I ache,” I whined. “Ducksauce, can I have a backrub?”
“Okay.” She wanders over to my cubicle and I move myself into a position on my chair that could be more comfortable.
Her hands are strong and I feel the tension ease away.
“You’ve got a bony back.”
“Is that bad?”
“I dunno. It’s just bony. There’s no fat there.”
My eyes are closed as she digs into a knot. I can barely contain the pain in my lower back.
“I dig your new Billie Joe picture,” Ducksauce says.
I open my eyes to look at it. This is the new one I’ve put up.
“You’ve got a thing for blonds.” She digs a little lower.
“Brian Setzer, Billie Joe, Tom Hiddleston–”
“Robert Redford,” I sighed. “Paul Newman.”
“Paul Newman’s gone gray.”
“Paul Newman is dead.”
“Then you really shouldn’t be sighing over that one, dude!”
10 and done.