I looked down at the floor. It was my last day as a dog runner.
I owned three pairs of running shorts. I ran five days a week. I did laundry, you know. Sometimes. All three pairs were revolting. Two had gotten so bad I'd recently placed them inside a plastic bag as a kind of DON'T WEAR THESE memory cue. The third I'd worn four days in a row.
I searched around for another option. In the back of one drawer I found a pair of faded cotton pajama pants. They'd been left behind in my room by a girl who spent the night months before. I thought it over. I had only three dogs to run that day, and knew none of the owners would be home. It was my last day. I'll be like the senior who wears funky glasses to graduation. That guy's funny, right? Whatever. I put on the shorts.