I have a double wide pizza box on my kitchen counter telling me that some things just go better together, like a pack of cigarettes and a 12 mile run. My shins are aching because they splintered like a plank washed up on shore made into a sinking surfboard. I talked to a lady for 3 days just to find out I’m not crazy and I’m still trying to figure that one out, how can she tell me i’m not crazy when I have a double wide pizza box on my kitchen counter and I have to do a 12 mile run tomorrow but I’m inspired by a pack of cigarettes? I won’t touch those cigarettes, because I see them in her hands and in her chest and I see her dying in front of me like her cigarettes are dying in her hand. But I can’t complain about her cigarettes because I have a double wide pizza box on my kitchen counter and it’s telling me that some things just go better together. Maybe that pack of cigarettes goes better with her than life and that’s what that box is trying to tell me. Or maybe a breath of fresh air is all we need and I need to lace my shoes up for that 12 mile run and not stop until I hit 24. I know I’m not crazy but how can you decide that from 3 days of conversation about a bad day, followed by 365 good ones? I know a lot about crazy because I have a double wide pizza box on my kitchen counter and my shins are aching from splintering like bench on a playground, but I don’t like that bench, so i’ll keep running and my shins will just have to deal with the fact that my double wide box of pizza is full of cigarettes that I won’t smoke.