But what the hell - that entire aisle full of fitness supplies? I was trying to imagine the kind of people to walk into an express drugstore aiming for that aisle.
"Oh, dang, mate- I'm actually outta muscle shake, I think," said Martin, and Patrick smirked. "I'm outta muscle shake, sounds like pretty bad rap slang for 'I don't wanna dance anymore'. How about normal dinner then? Let's go for a McDonalds." "McDonalds, are ya mad? Nah mate, ain't eating that crap. Ya know what, let's go in there, they've got these cheap ass no brand protein shakes but they will do for tonight. Tomorrow's leg day, I need that shit." Uuuum.
Clarissa was standing sadly in front of rows and rows of all sorts of Haribo bags, and cookies, and chocolate, and lactosefreeglutenfreesugarfreesomethingselsefreepseudochocolate. She has always been a little chubby, but ever since Steve left her she became Fatwoman - she just ate, and ate, and ate. She was also a firm believer in tumblr and weheartit truths - there were a lot of cute, colourful pictures of sweets that said stuff like "Cupcakes make my world go round" or "Eating brownies like there's no tomorrow. justgirlythings". And she was a girl, so, what the hell. The aisle next to her gastronomic life refugee camp was one with 50/50 pastel (for all the cute #fitspo gals) and electric (for all the badass #jacked lads) coloured bottles and boxes that screamed FITNESS and HEALTH and LOW CARB DIET. Clarissa remembered all the tumblr and instagram posts with the hashtags "#fit #fitness #diet #summer #happy #healthy #health #cleaneating #girl #fitspo", and all the tanned, smiling girls in cute galaxy coloured nike roshes that Steve would never have dumped because they wouldn't give him a second look in the first place, and grabbed a pastel pink jar that contained some weird, potentially undrinkable protein drink, and, determined like a space ship commander in Star Wars, ran to the checkout. This was going change her life.
I am not sure which ill-connected synapses are responsible for these, but I am confident that smartass Patrick would make a wonderful protagonist for a coming of age hip hop film, and that my brain bore the struggling, late twentysomething Clarissa to be the protagonist of - duh!- a mediocre, slightly critical, woman's novel that hopefully no one is ever going to write. Me pondering on the purpose of an aisle full of dietary supplements in an express drugstore in a critical (crappy) life situation makes me the perfect protagonist for - for what?