Dear Slow-Walking Girl,

Today, as I walked to class, I found myself stuck behind you for an agonizing 22 seconds. Though I tried to get around you numerous times, I was blocked by the upheaval of your enormous cellulite-filled fundament. When I strayed left, you strayed left. When I strayed right, you strayed right. Were you aware of my presence? Did you sense my movements? That I could not say. I can say, however, that overhearing you yowl over your roommate forgetting your birthday to your mother over the phone did bring some gladness to my gloom. Still, as I followed in your shadow I impatiently waited for my chance to pass.

Finally, it came. An opening in the barricade! And I took it. I stepped to it like a basilisk steps to water; swiftly and with great speed. And our bodies passed. As I continued onto physics class, I gave one last look your way. My eyes gazed threw your black, thick-rhymed glasses, and I could see you were well aware of what had just happened. You knew the final whistle had blown in this match; you would have to remain lurking around campus, searching for a new victim for your sick, twisted little game. Because today Mrs. Slow-Walker, I prevailed. ΒΌ/p>