Today I got a hair cut and then went on a run. I ran to a park and did quick laps around the park with short rests between them, trying to run each lap faster than the previous.
On one of these laps I sprinted toward the finish line, which was a giant pole with lights mounted at the top. A bird atop this light fixture showed true marksmanship with moving targets. He delivered a sticky white substance to the top of my head just as I crossed the finish line. I shook my fist and challenged him to a gentlemanly duel, but he smugly ignored me. We both knew he had already won. I ran two more laps, defiant of his attempt to make me quit early.
On my way home I ran by a friend from an old ward. She said something nice about my hair cut. She was too short to see the top of my head.
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