by Zeke Jarvis
At work, Lewis was a dynamo. He got more compliments than ever, he was able to produce, and he felt total confidence. All that productivity helped him to push the bad dream out of his mind. In a lot of ways, it was just what he needed. It wasn’t just professional confidence, either. He felt strong. Lewis felt badass.
On his way home, Lewis blasted Metallica. He felt good. The GetJakked was working. The jittery feeling had shifted into energy. As he headed into his apartment, Lewis took off his work clothes and put on shorts and a t-shirt. He’d go for a jog. Lewis drank a glass of water and stretched. Lewis usually hated running. Partway through his jogs, he’d feel like he was going to throw up, but today felt like the kind of day where he could push through.
Once he was set, Lewis locked his apartment door, clipped his key onto the little jogging necklace he had, and took off. It was a good day for a run. Warm but not hot, a little breeze. He lost himself in admiring the day, not really paying attention to where he was making turns. About ten minutes into the jog (the point at which he’d usually be asking himself why the fuck he was doing this), Lewis noticed a house that looked familiar. There was police tape across the front door. He jogged in place for a minute, then he looked around.
Lewis headed down an alleyway, then he ran past the back of the house. The door on the back had police tape over it as well, but it had clearly been broken down recently. Lewis stopped jogging. He thought about his dream. What if had been real? Lewis stared for a few more seconds, then he ran. He ran and huffed, then he went over to a bush, squatted behind it, and threw up. He vomited and vomited, then he fell to the side. He cried a little and said, “Fuck.” After he felt his energy come back up, Lewis started walking back to his apartment. He knew that he’d need a bunch of Gatorade, but he’d make it.
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