Excruciating is the only word you can think to describe it. Indescribably insidious sensations contradict the soft security of your exposed socks with each stride against the unforgiving asphalt. The early afternoon sun attempts to boil your inner organs, as well as drown your outer organ in its own sweat. Oxygen stalls its journey to your lungs in an effort to prolong your suffering. You haven't stopped for a mile and a half.
The city is silent, but something is off. Countless people bombard the streets with chaotic actions. Cars meld themselves together with imperfect ripples. Broken glass and rubble line the sidewalks. There should be sound. Perhaps your senses are beginning to shut down.
A deafening rumble shatters the silence. You are unable to keep your momentum, but you stay on your feet. A mere 80 yards away, a massive bare foot is implanted deeply into the street. You wonder if it's her, then wish you could slap yourself for asking such a foolish question.
Well, you might as well make sure. Yup, there's no mistaking it. That baskingly golden tan. Those slender, smooth, endless legs complimented brilliantly by those cut off jean shorts she's always wearing. That firm, tight backside. That flat stomach serving as a plateau for her well rounded bussoms. That beautifully wavy shoulder-blade length brown hair. Those ocean blue eyes and petite nose and mouth. No doubt about it: It's Lauraine.
Every other person on this particular block seems to have made the unanimous decision to run in the direction opposite Lauraine. You have to admit that the sight of a 135 foot tall woman makes you think they may be on to something. No, you have to keep on. After all...
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