I finished my second consecutive 14-hour work day, and walked and jogged a little the Levy Loop in 27:40 beginning at about 12:15 a.m. Then I ran a half dozen 100-yard semi-sprints, with a 100-yard walk between them.
What hurt most was my belly full of a Wendy's double cheeseburger (now I know why it's been six years since my last Wendy's burger. I ate it the night I watched the second Natalie Portman Star Wars movie at the now out-of-business Cinema 150). This burger sucked, plus they put ketchup on it. No one should put ketchup on anything served to anyone over five years old without approval. The Wendy's girl in Russellville should've said, for instance, "Would you like us to fuck up this lukewarm hamburger meat with some ketchup?" I would've appreciated that almost as much as I did her telling me I would have to wait two minutes for my French fries, since they had run out of cold, stale ones and thus were forced to fry a new batch. The fries nearly made up for burger. They didn't, though. How do they sell those things to anyone more than once every six years?
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