Friday January 8th, 2010

The exercise:

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

Mine:

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).

2 Comments:

Greg said...

Sorry to hear about the spam problems, I hope it's not too tricky to find a way to block it. I guess you can't simply block the IP address that the spam is coming from?
My gym's not too bad for the kind of thing you're describing there, but there is, from time to time, some odd-comers in there. I too try to stay out of their way.
And a quick thank-you, as my entry for the Winter poetry tournament has been inspired by one of your earlier prompts, towards the middle of December I think.

There's always one

Miss Tivet, authentic southern Belle, surveyed the ballroom dance class with a hint of a self-satisfied smirk on her lips. Her latest class were doing very well, and as the music played a Viennese Waltz they were all keeping pace very nicely. Then she frowned, spotting Daniel's hands sliding down his partner's back to a more intimate hold. "There's always one," she thought as she picked up her daddy's shotgun.

Marc said...

Well, I ended up disabling further comments for that particular post. Which ticks me off, considering the point of this blog, but it was a better option than enabling that annoying word verification thing.

I'll turn it back on in a few days to see if it broke the script, but I doubt it will.

I've read your poem and highly, highly enjoyed it. Very nicely done :)

Great little scene up there, by the way - the final line was slightly more extreme that I was expecting, but that just made it better :)