169

The fat kid's feet pounded down the hot sidewalk in their smooth-bottomed tennis shoes.  His breath came in hot gasps and he soon developed a hitched stride, though it didn't slow him much.  If he had the wherewithal, he would have been contemplating the past 24 hours and deciding where it all had gone so horribly wrong; however, it was taking all his concentration to keep his thighs bludgeoning each another and his arms swinging the momentum he needed to haul himself forward.