We're training. YES! We love training. Every Saturday morning we train so fucking hard. We're unclogging our arteries by clogging the Esplanade. Yeah, we hear the polite, persistent ding of your bicycle bell, but we can't be bothered, we have fucking water bottles strapped to our hands! Besides, we move quick—I mean, we're all running! We're training! Oh, wow. That was awesome training. I think I'll quicken my pace so that I can get to the café before everyone else. I'll have two chocolate croissants and a large mocha—it's okay, I'm training for a marathon. Oh, don't mind those blood spots on my shirt, those are just my nipples. WE'RE TRAINING!!! Oh my god, it's hot in here. I gotta lose a layer. I can hang it up here, with these nice, dry jackets. I'm sure these non-training people in here won't mind a little sweat on their garments. Uh-oh, my armpits smell like hot garbage. I'd better go blend in with my loud, salty brethren. I feel sorry for all these people in here wasting their lives typing on their computers with annoyed looks on their faces. —Anonymous
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