Breathe Deeper, Gals!

I'm not an old man yet. So I believe, at least. However, if I don't shave for a couple of weeks, a beard crops out so abundant, Karl Marx himself would envy me.  
And then the youngsters passing me on the street would turn to me most respectfully.
"Hey, guvnor! Got any baccy?"
"I'm sorry, boys. I don't smoke," I say.
 
I quit that harmful habit along with work as a night watchman. Taking up a new job I promised myself, as a former sportsman, to lead the right lifestyle and to resume the healthy habits. Among others was regular jogging. But somehow I don't run more than two or three weeks at a stretch. Have not enough strength for this. Sometimes I'm so swamped with work I yearn for one thing only, for getting to the sofa as soon as possible.

On my jogging days my itinerary is not particularly diverse. Usually I run to the school playing fields. Here are parallel bars, a horizontal bar and two parallel pipes installed at different heights for exercising the stomach muscles. However, nobody has had workouts here for a long time, if ever at all. The fields are thickly overgrown with thistles. But the spot around the pipes is tramped down very well indeed. That is where boys and girls come together. Sometimes they arrive in cars. They enjoy here wine and vodka plus cigarettes. Chitchatting. Joking with reference to genitals. Occasionally somebody is reckless and drunk enough to climb up the horizontal bar. That's when jokes turn into guffaw. The ecstasy is complete if somebody, being under the influence, crashes down from the bar. 

The rising generation is having fun...They are used to me here, and fully ignore me. I am to them like that little dog loitering nearby and waiting for somebody to throw it a tail of a picked kipper.

One day, when the spot was empty, I scanned the ground. With a toe of my foot I scraped together the used syringes. Counted them. Twenty three shots. Enough for two soccer teams. And even the coach will get his share...

Also, I have a different route. It's a little longer and includes a street stadium. This doesn't seem to belong to anybody since there are no institutions of any sort in sight, except a kindergarten. Sometimes boys kick a ball here. There are benches along the field on asphalted tracks. People coming here, mostly youngsters, have a good time on those benches. They arrange on them their bottles with beer and vodka. Ho-ho-ho! Ha-ha-ha! Great fun! Emptying the can, they send it flying into the field. As they finish the bottle they smash it against the asphalt. The track is littered with broken glass so profusely, it crunches under feet like a parched collar.

Well, as I run along this track, intent on improving my health, I spot two damsels perched on the bench. Thin long legs are crisscrossed in a negligent posture. Long thin fingers hold long thin cigarettes.
I came alongside of them.
"Chugging, old man?" one asks playfully and exhales a tobacco cloud.
"Breathe in deeper, gals!" I reply in the same tone and continue running.
So I ran round the field and drew up with the girls again.
"You'll croak just the same, man!" one of the girls shouts to me.
"Only after you, girls," I call back and take another round.
Completing it, I see them again by my side.
"Here you are, man! Suck this!" shouts the girl and chucks an empty beer can under my feet.
"Suck yourself something somewhere," I reply and run on.

I run and see from the corner of my eye a car approach the girls. A silvery posh car. A young man emerges from it. I look more intently. This is a bulky thug in slacks the color of young salads and a jersey, red like the Victory flag. A very intriguing color combination.The girls talk to him, pointing to me. The thug nods understandingly and plunges into his car. Presently he reemerges. There is a baseball bat in his hands. He makes for me.I immediately realize that I must change direction and increase speed.

Now I am running along the neighboring street. I run quietly thinking about how unwise I am occasionally on the streets of my hometown. High time to know better...
Suddenly I see a silvery non-Russian car fleeting by. That was just that car. It overtakes me and stops. The front door swings open. I don't watch what happens next. The computer in my brain works instantly, sending a command to my legs. They carry me into the bushes along the road and then across some street and over some wasteland, I negotiate hedges and fences, recalling the hurdle clearing skills obtained in the army. I feel my heart beating violently delivering more and more blood to the lower limbs.  Breathing becomes hard. I slow down. But it looks like I have covered a sufficient range, zigzagging in a way not each hare would perform running for dear life from the wolf.

That was just that car. It overtakes me and stops. The front door swings open. I don't watch what happens next. The computer in my brain works instantly, sending a command to my legs. They carry me into the bushes along the road and then across some street and over some wasteland, I negotiate hedges and fences, recalling the hurdle clearing skills obtained in the army. I feel my heart beating violently delivering more and more blood to the lower limbs,  Breathing becomes hard. I slow down. But it looks like I have covered a sufficient range, zigzagging in a way not each hare would perform running for dear life from the wolf.

Recovering my breath and looking around (I must remain vigilant), I'm heading home. I walk and think: "What a time we live in! In their foreign-built cars they chase gray-haired gentlemen. No respect for senior citizens at all..