Springs for legs.

My roommate's name is Gunnar.  After running with him, he's been dubbed "Machine Gunnar." The man has coiled springs for legs.  Every time he hits the ground, he bounds forward.  It's like the world is his personal trampoline and I don't get to jump on it.

No-one out here does the nod.  The little head movement of acknowledgment to say "Hey, I see you over there. You're running too. Keep it up."  Instead, people stare ahead with a glazed look and pump their limbs.  Everyone's a machine.  This town's been taken over by robots.  

I promise to take more pictures and get them up here. In the meantime, enjoy my words.  For all they're worth.