The way back.

I make for home.

It's only a couple blocks away, which is not that far. About two more turns after this stretch of walking and it'll be waiting a house and a half down; three streets' worth of distance, which normally would be an excuse for me to veg out once I got back -- "relax the legs." But today, I silently wish for an enhanced stamina, and posit myself for the results.

Moments after my breaths grow even; my muscles loosen. Each step is stronger, wider. Even my chest lifts a little. The feeling is enough to spur me on to a regional decathlon. Near giddiness inducing. If I was the giddy type.

A few paces down, and I spot a pair of people at one of the local bus stops. One is a girl, topped with a beanie and navy blue jeans, and the other is an elderly woman. I elect to breathe some life into the scene. Sprinkling a thought in their direction, the elderly woman suddenly stands up and looks at the younger girl, who looks back.

Then suddenly, like clattering pots on a clothesline, she barks, "Young lady, you are such a, such a bitch! Who do you think you are? Show some respect!" She points down, at her own legs and sits back on the bench.

Obliging meekly but swiftly nevertheless, the girl goes on her knees then kneels next to her left leg and positions her stomach across the elder's legs, tucking her chin against one set of knuckles. The woman sternly looks down at her body then lifts her left hand.

Smack!

"Naughty!" The sound of iron palm against the tightness of fresh buttock rings in the air, and the younger of the two shuts one eye as her butt is tamed. "Naughty, naughty!"

Smack!

"Naughty, I say!" Smack! "Well?" Smack! "Don't just lie there. What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?"

The girl releases the lip she had bitten and cries out. "I'm a bad bad girl! I'm sorry for being so bad and naughty! Please, please forgive me! I'm such a bitch!"

Smack!

"Just for that, I'll skip slapping your bare pale behind for now." Devilishly, the older woman pushes against the younger girl's stomach, informing her to get up, which she does warily, uncertain if that was all. The former then takes her dress and lifts it up, and smiles harmlessly at the girl. "You could eat out your friendly neighborhood granny's 'ol pussy instead." A second later. "Now hurry and get to it before our bus comes!"

As the two silhouettes join together and get lost in a quiet, and then not-so-quiet mix of slurps and frail moans, I continue down the road.

It's a mischievous milk in my blood at the moment. I shrug. Never hurts to exercise that inner leprechaun from time to time.

I'm not sure if it has been one minute or five, but the next thing I know, I find myself on the street of my own sequestered home, as oxygen-fueled and tireless as the past one, five, thirty minutes before. I pass one oak residence and realize it is already the next door neighbor's. Mrs. Hughes, a light chocolate skinned picture framer of a woman, is currently tending to the front yard, fitted in a pair of jeans that, like all her wardrobe of the under-the-waist brand, seems incapable of hiding her curvaceous thighs and rounded rear, which is complimented by a trim body that was doubtlessly well maintained over the years. I also wonder what her bosom size is. It still looks very full and sprout for a fox her age.

"Afternoon, John," she greets with her warm yet anti-bullshit drawl. I break away my gaze to meet hers, and almost forget where I am, in cosmic terms, and compared to everyday people. Her eyes look as sharp yet goodhearted as usual, the same ones I'd see heading out to freshman classes just years before. Shaking it off, I return the greeting anyway before going through my front gate and toward my front door.