Progressive Alternative Writing Exercises: Don’t Talk With Strangers

Standard

“vigilantes of the old wild west wore cowboy hats, used a colt .45 six shooter, rode horses, and their sidekick was a redskinned shaman. In the modern era vigilantes wear tights, capes, and masks, and their support are often foolish teenagers that can’t control their hormones. That, is called progress?”

Long stringy blonde hair fell in front of his face. It was clean and neat despite falling well pass his shoulders, evenly cut tips flirting with his waistline. Slender and toned, Khristyna thought the guy was somewhat attractive. His frisbee skills were definitely impressive. But he was, in a way, frightening. The ridiculously long hair that went wild everytime he jumped to catch the frisbee did not match his clothing style.
Long hair and a “healthy” appearance does not look good in baggy pants and jerseys. They are contradicting in a most severe way. Then, to be wearing brown, leather sandles made it all worse. His name must be Jerome or Dustin, Khristyna thought.
Dressed the way he is, Khristyna assumed the guy was a lazy oaf. She would ensure that she does not give him her number after their game of frisbee. Thinking on it, she would definitely not give him her work number either; as an assistant at a high priced law firm, she could not afford the reputation of consulting with bums.

*

Her leggings seemed too stylish to be worn in a park on such a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and over the leggings was a smoke-grey mini-skirt. She sat underneath an old oak sipping tea, or coffee, or whatever self important people sipped. There was a tote and a leather briefcase next to her, and on her lap rested a laptop. The woman set alone of course. Mariom had been bored and decided to take a chance with asking if she wanted to throw the disc around a bit. Much to his surprise she said okay.
She slid the skirt off and skipped away to put about a hundred feet between herself and the man that randomly asked if she would volley a frisbee with them. What sort of woman disrobes infront of a stranger, Mariom thought to himself. The lady jumped to catch the disc, her athletic build revealed with the graceful ease she displayed. Mariom momentarily lost himself in awe.
The two vollied the disc for five minutes and it was splendid. Mariom had even forgot about the disrobing. Suddenly, the lady threw the disc back and called out she had to go, apparently her phone rang. Mariom heard no ringing. And he never got her name.

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