<HONEA EXPRESS: You Write the Post

It finally happened. Honea Express has moved to greener pastures, or possibly just out to pasture -- you make the call.

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Please pardon the dust and update your feed readers accordingly. Thank you - Whit

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

You Write the Post

The following is a section that was cut from my previous post. It didn't feel like it fit the vibe. Now it's just extra words without love or home. Rather than toss it I thought I'd share it with you, the reader(s), and put the fate of the words in your hands. In 100 words or less finish this scene. There may be a CD mix in it for a few of you. Okay, have fun:

I forgot my pajamas. Normally it wouldn't be a big deal, but the mother-in-law was sharing the room and I didn't feel my man-thong would be appropriate. I had worn my shorts all day and would be wearing them again in the morning. They were caked with sweat and blood and needed a night to air out.

I wore my wife's short shorts. SHORT shorts. Like Nair commercial short. I looked like Richard Simmons with a penis.

You owe me five bucks for that image.

Luckily it was the weekend of the half-marathon, so even though I had missed the deadline to register I still got to wander around the grounds with more man thigh exposed than the NBA, circa 1982. It was like athletic. People thought I was Larry Bird when I walked in.

The sidewalks were empty but for the occasional drunk, the guy I used to be, but with better pants.

The air was cool and the draft against my legs was six inches above my tan line. I wore my wallet like a cup...

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