That moment when you grasp at your pocket and realize there’s a particular bulge missing? The, “oh crap, where’s my phone?!?” feeling. I felt that this Saturday on my morning run.
I feverishly patted my chest and realized they were gone. They had to be nearby, and as much as I understood I didn’t need them, I wanted them back, because they’re a nice thing to have. I hadn’t covered much ground, the stifling 97 degrees slowing me down, so I backtracked. After about a mile, I saw them sitting together melted in a puddle on the sidewalk. I quickly scooped them and slapped them back onto my chest.
My nipples had melted off.
there’s a song by Taking Back Sunday titled MIAMI. It’s one of TBS’s more underwhelming lyrical efforts, with singer Adam Lazzara repeating “Miami” over and over until you feel the need to bash your head against the wall. Still, it’s endearing that one of my favorite bands made an effort to displace Will Smith from the Miami Song Throne.
In Miami, Adam laments,
“Unhand me, God damn me, Miami,
Whoever I was then I can’t ever be again.”
Isn't that interesting.
I wonder if his nipples melted off here too.