Creative non-fiction… May or may not have been written in one go at my local cafe, carefully listening to the two men beside me….
Johnny leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the small round table. The milky coffee splashed up and over onto the white dish.
“I was like to him, mate, if you don’t do the core,” Johnny lowered his voice, “you ain’t gonna get there.” Pleased by his performance, Johnny relaxed back into the chair.
Tom looked away, over to a slim woman riding a red vintage bike down the laneway, and shrugged. “Yeah, like, if you’re not doing the core and like, eating shit, you’re gonna die,” he said airily, swishing his latte around in the glass.
“My Holly’s helped me a lot, ya know,” Johnny motioned his head to the fancy display of healthy sandwiches in the glass cabinet. “She’s a genius, mate. Genius. I’m eating hummos and lettuce wraps and just droppin’ it all off!” He grinned crookedly and patted his stomach.
Tom chuckled. “I can see! And you’re workin’ out as well?”
“Yep, about 6-8 times a week. It’s pretty alright of me,” Johnny glanced up at the low ceiling of the cafe, pretending not to be proud of his newly-fit body, made (glaringly) obvious by the fact he was wearing a black t-shirt at least sizes two small. Nevermind the morning chill that was making the hairs on his arms stand on end; Johnny had it now, he had it and he was going to flaunt it.
Tom hadn’t noticed the sudden flex in Johnny’s bicep. “You know what’s funny? Stevo reckons he’s never even weighed himself before, and he’s still pretty fit, walkin’ in without his shirt…” He shook his head.
“Yeah?” Johnny’s head tilted to the side.
“Yeah. And he’s lookin’ real good!” Tom said, and then he hastened to say, “– eh, like, if ya know what I mean.”