His heart beat in sync to an electronic track on his headphones. Phone in hand, the cords beat their own rhythm as they swayed and bounced off of his chest as he ran. He wiped a bit of sweat off his forehead with his free hand. It's warm, here. He'd always thought of New York as temperate - cold Winters and hot Summers - but he hadn't realized how cool the Spring was there until he 'stepped outside the box'. This was California.

The beachfront was calling to him. Riverfront beaches, sure, but beaches none the less. Another block or two to go. He kept his feet moving as he approached the curb, looking for an opening to cut across the street - ignoring the distorted shadow he cast. The rest of the world would see pecs and calves and occasional smiles to passers-by and, in his head, that's how he still looked. Tired of this song. Next! He steadied his phone as he skipped to the next track. A shrill cry brought his attention forward again.

"Ice cream!" A little girl no more than 4 years old tugged and pulled from her mother's grip, reaching out in vain towards an ice cream shop. Her mother, in quiet and forced dignity, kept a stone-faced expression and tried to hide her frustration.

"No. It's almost lunch time. You can have ice cream later."

Quick stopped by a nearby street sign and pretended to tie his shoe. The tension between the two could easily be ignored as background noise by some... but Quick could feel their emotions wafting off of them like steam. Frustration, anger, irritation. The little girl practically threw herself to the ground, hanging by one arm at an almost impossible angle. Another shrill squeal as she flailed and kicked. The girl's mother, now turning red, finally picked the screaming child up and carried her towards their car. And that's why I'm never having kids. He got what he needed from them.

One more block. He felt renewed. A second-wind granted not by his own endorphins but by the rush of Glamour he'd feasted on. He fell into a rhythm again and pressed forward.