A Snippet - Is Obscenity in the Eye of the Beholder?

In the gym this morning, energized and focused and ready.  I walked on the stepper and did bench presses with my hips evenly weighted across the bench.

I lifted the bar up and down, chest open, breathing deeply, squeezing the muscles, moving the bar with precision.  I was one with the world.

Then, I sat up.

A young white man wearing a black hoodie, his face obscured in shadows, turned and showed me his back - a white assault weapon silk screened on the fabric.

Part of me wanted to rip it off his body, right then and there.

Part of me wanted to get right up in his face and ask him if he'd ever been on the receiving end of a bullet.

Part of me wanted to weep.

I took what was left of me and closed my eyes.  Looking down and not up or out, I finished my bench presses, my french presses, my dips and my push-ups, but the joy was gone.

I debated talking to the gym staff about their definition of obscenity... but left before I upset myself any further.

I'm still quaking, an hour later, after talking it out with TBG and typing it out with you.

PTSD is a wild and not-so-wonderful ride.