As alwas at dusk, he donned his running shoes and tracksuit, then went to run along the riverbank. His work finished late, so morning jog was out of the question. During the day it was too hot, and besides, he hated dodging the kids, their balloons and frisbees. He waited for the heat to subside, for all the senior citizens to have their full day of walking, for all the youth in love to do their making out in the groves and get their share of mosquito bites. Only when the last of dog lovers were about to give up, when street lights flickered on, that was his time for recreation.
No one actually knew how he looked like. He was enjoying living in the times when in order to exist, email, chat nickname and credit card were all you need. Since he was working from home, he didn't have any immediate co-workers, nor bosses. Didn't have a girlfriend or lover. Didn't share his appartment with other living being if you tick off spiders, moths and similar stowaways. Little cousins he had lived far away in places where you panic if reception on your phone drops to 'single bar'. Even his friends faded away turning to emails and chat messages.
If he would have died, only his Facebook profile would carry on, recieving vain reports about virtual exhibitions of his digital neighbourhood. So, nothing was really making him stand out from his fellow cybernauts, other than habit to run at dusk.
Only then he would gain shape. Tracksuit clung tight to his body, as if it was the only thing that defined him. Without the binding force of the jersey, he would still be a bunch of data stored on someone's cloud. Running shoes threaded the paved concrete, proving with every step that he does exist, that he is alive and kicking.
His run finished at the last patch of paved path. He turned around. Checked his watch. Paused to ponder what to do next. River bank was devoid of people, and insects started their suicide dance around the streetlights. Shadows swallowed the world, turning it into evenly spaced globs of sickly yellow dull light. Then again, it was too early to call it a night and move towards the bus station. He will head back, he decided. Ritual is a ritual. His was to run two lenghts of the track along the river, and never more and never less...
(fragment from novel about heaven for communists)
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