Day Two.

I decided that, if I was ever going to be able to kick Zach in the shins, at least properly, then it was time to work out. I mean, it stands to reason, really. There's really not any point in gearing yourself up to kick a guy in the shins, finally getting the opportunity to do so, and then squandering it on a weak, powerless kick because you don't have the requisite muscle for full-blown shin-centric destruction.

So I decided to take a couple days off and pump some leg-iron at the gym. Well, not leg-irons, because those are chains, but you know what I mean. So I'd just been for my second workout, mainly weights, a little cardio, you know, just to keep in shape, and then I saw Zach, and he was working out too, benching like eighty or something. And as he exhaled for the contraction and his adonian muscles bulged around his chest, I just caught his eye, and the glimmer in his corneas was half of recognition, half of pure, animalistic, masculine rage. So I decided to row a couple K on the ergs instead.

But tomorrow I will kick Zach in the shins. Well, as long as I don't get cramp from all those lateral curls.


Listening to: ZZ Top - Legs