Most distance runners receive their share of inane and absurd comments and questions while trying to get their endorphin rush on. Some of the more memorable ones hurled at me:

Why are you running? You’re already skinny.
Who’s chasing you?
Spare any change?
Are you a registered Seattle voter?
How’d you like me to suck your dick?

Okay, maybe that last one isn’t so inane or absurd… unfortunately, he wasn’t my type.

But all of those utterances were usurped today. While on my run this morning, I heard a male voice emerge from a crumpled pile of blankets nestled in an entranceway on Harvard near Pike. “Hey, man, gotta cigarette?” it asked. I just kept running, in stunned disbelief.