There’s no point in self-consciousness now, not after all we have been through and shared.
I knew I looked like a dick, but so what? I didn’t know any of these people, and what should I care if they giggled at a fat, middle-aged man in an outsize version of a boxer’s sweat suit puffing away on a cross trainer?
All I know is that it felt like the sweat suit worked, and I didn’t kill myself using it.










