Dear Pothole on Paxton across from the Drexel,
Maybe it was my fault, the way things ended between us. I do apologize for stepping all over you the last time we met (last Friday afternoon). It was rude of me, the way I treated you...I should have been looking more carefully.
But in my defense, you treated me unfairly. You broke my heart -- or rather, sprained my ankle. And I don't mean that in a metaphorical sense. What you did to me, it...it really hurt. I mean, not at the time. At the time I was too mad to feel it. But later, when I was driving? That's when I really started to feel the pain.
I wish Ron Swanson could have fixed you and all the other potholes just like you.
Because of you, I crutched around all weekend. Because of you, I haven't run since Friday. Because of you, I still have trouble with lateral movement (Ok, that last one has not much to do with running. But when I'm ballin...).
So in conclusion, you're tacky and I hate you.
You, dear pothole, can go rot in pavement hell.
Sincerely yours,
A runner.
Maybe it was my fault, the way things ended between us. I do apologize for stepping all over you the last time we met (last Friday afternoon). It was rude of me, the way I treated you...I should have been looking more carefully.
But in my defense, you treated me unfairly. You broke my heart -- or rather, sprained my ankle. And I don't mean that in a metaphorical sense. What you did to me, it...it really hurt. I mean, not at the time. At the time I was too mad to feel it. But later, when I was driving? That's when I really started to feel the pain.
I wish Ron Swanson could have fixed you and all the other potholes just like you.
Because of you, I crutched around all weekend. Because of you, I haven't run since Friday. Because of you, I still have trouble with lateral movement (Ok, that last one has not much to do with running. But when I'm ballin...).
So in conclusion, you're tacky and I hate you.
You, dear pothole, can go rot in pavement hell.
Sincerely yours,
A runner.
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