The Devil rubbed his eyes, awakened by a stream of light breaking through the cracked door of his bedroom. “Honey?” he asked. “What time is it?”
“Shh…” she replied. “It’s early. You can go back to sleep.”
“No, I’m awake. Where were you?”
Yawning, stretching slowly, she began to get undressed. “You remember that sucker who thought he’d try running again?”
“Sisyphus?”
“No, that’s the guy stuck between a rock and, well… you know. Same kind of winning record, though.”
The Devil paused. “I think so,” he said. “But, go on.”
“Well, this other guy, he thought he’d be smart and run last night. And it worked. I wasn’t paying attention, he made it all the way through, and he didn’t squeak a bit. This morning, however, he wasn’t as smart and tried again. That’s when I caught him, kicked him the left calf muscle, and grinned as he whined and cried all the way home.”
“Wow,” the Devil said. “That’s pretty—”
“No, wait, it gets better. So, his calf is hurting and he thought maybe he’d go biking during lunch because, well, did I mention the not smart thing?”
“You hurt his calf again?”
“No, no! Better! I ran across my pal, Cycling, at the store—you remember Cycling, right? She came over a few weekends ago, brought that weenie date who smelled like patchouli? What was his name? Oh, right, Yoga. But called himself Downward Dog.”
“I dunno,” admitted the Devil. “My mind was on a host of other things that night. We hit 1 Billion Served in our torture chambers, and I was trying to think of a theme for the celebration.”
“Who was the billionth?”
“Some nitwit who abandoned his kids and thought he could beat cancer with quack science.”
“I know that guy! Steve Jobs, right? Well, anyway, I ran across Cycling and asked her if maybe she’d do me a solid. And she did! She hurt his right knee ten miles into the ride.”
The Devil stared. “Damn. You’re one mean bitch, Running. Now come here, let’s snuggle.”
“Sounds heavenly.”