Hello Handsome

I was riding up Peel Street at the end of my bike ride. I had just come to Oxford Street, when a tall, blond, handsome, athletic guy stepped in front of me, as we both got to the corner at exactly the same time. Really handsome, Chris Hemsworth handsome. Just stepped off the runway handsome. Strapping, tall, take me to Paris handsome. Pale blue polo shirt, baggy white soccer shorts, muscular legs, tanned skin. I was pushing myself, I was hurting, my feet pained me, my thighs groaned. I like to get from Gipp Street to Smith Street without stopping. I was single minded about finishing my ride. My glasses were riding down my nose, music was playing in my ears, which always kind of puts me in my own world, (Christina Aguilera, so that's pretty fucken gay) I looked up in exhaustion and thought, Hello handsome, except I didn’t think it, I said it, wheezed it out. 

“Hello handsome.” 

Jesus, did I really just say that? Dear universe, what the hell is wrong with me? My filter was, down, clearly. He pulled his head back and kind of cocked it to one side. I died inside, well, not really, I was taken aback a bit, and I would have been embarrassed, if I hadn’t sailed on right passed. 

Shit, shit, shit, I thought – and I did only think it this time – as I peddled across Oxford Street and up the hill. Thank the universe I was riding, and made a relatively quick getaway. Of course, if I hadn’t been riding, I doubt I would have said it, but still, it was nice to make a speedy getaway. Peel Street Collingwood though, there was a good chance he was gay anyway, and just took it as a compliment. Truthfully, he probably just thought, “Who was that weird guy.” But it makes no never mind. I rode on.