Parker Lawrence - 31, heterosexual, photographer
With a heatwave sweeping the nation, Parker nonetheless didn’t allow his gym routine to be deterred. It was a maverick view, judging by the distinct lack of the usual patrons in the basement gym that night, though Parker didn’t mind being the odd one out and especially so when he had the gym largely to himself. A few other patrons and staff members were dotted around but the swathes of white collar workers and sleep deprived students usually in there late were gone, thus allowing Parker free rein in his routine.
Adorned in nothing but a pair of black shorts, white trainers and well-worn boxing gloves, Parker grunted and growled without concern as he pounded the bag before him. The large leather object swung and creaked at his flurry of punches, its movement only encouraging further sharp, quick jabs from Parker. The heat won over the air con in the basement and meant that a glistening sheen of sweat adorned Parker’s skin as he moved, his muscles burning and heart throbbing too.
In fact, Parker’s focus on the punching bag was so much so that he didn’t even hear the other person coming up behind him, their footsteps going unheard until they were just a few feet away.
Jet lag often kicked her ass, between jetting for this client meeting or that one. Her life was always a flurry of movements. Her apartment had been hot when she returned the ac had clicked on but it’d be a while before it’d cool off so she figured she’d at least hit the gym knowing a small work out might cure what ailed her.
The gym was quiet except for one man that kept jabbing at a poor punching bag. She watched him for a moment. “You know, maybe I should call you sandman because there’s not going to be any sand left in that bag if you keep hitting it like that.” She saw his raw talent but knew that he just worked out for fun. “Too bad you won’t sign up for a real fight.” She mused with a little smirk on her lips.
