Sigh, the spam has not stopped. I'll have to invest some time this weekend in figuring out a way to block it.
But today is Friday! And that is good. Your four lines of prose this week shall be based around: there's always one. I may have taken some liberties with my 'four' lines.
AFC Word Count: 8,152
AFC Word Target: 8,000
I started really working out when I began university and since then I've made use of a lot of different gyms in a lot of different locations - chains, community centers, independents, small town, big city. But one thing seems to always be present wherever I go: that one weird guy who you do your best to stay away from.
Sometimes it's the smell, sometimes it's just how he looks, but there's always one in every gym - on Monday night it was a gentleman with a bushy Friar Tuck hairstyle, green cotton shirt tucked into red shorts that were well above waist level, who kept checking out his knees in the mirror (seriously... as best I could tell anyway) and using free weights right in the middle of narrow walking paths.
To his credit, at least he wasn't a grunter as well (don't get me started).