here in the HPC

Here in the HPC, I’m daydreaming, looking out over the parking lot. I’m thinking about the sounds I hear. Thuds and metallic tinks, over and under, harder and lighter, tink. It’s the baseball team. I bet they’re doing it on purpose.

Signs in the fitness center say don’t drop the weights – if you do, you need a spotter or you’re lifting too much. I can’t remember anyone breaking that rule. Makes me feel superior to these guys. We’re a sophisticated crew, there in the fitness center. Careful to their careless.

Today, I did see a guy trying too hard, lifting too much. I actually gave him a nickname, something I don’t normally do. Ok, I do. His is Anderson Cooper. His hair was short and silver and he was middle-aged and lean. It was the quad machine. People groan loudly sometimes – I hiss. One guy does a good orgasm. Anderson Cooper here, though, roared. His body, his whole body, strained. I tried not to stare. It was like a wooden two by four about to snap. To each his own. I just assume everyone in there knows what he or she is doing – or at least know more than I. But he looked suicidal the way he did that. Like he was prying open a gator’s mouth.