He was up at 5 every single morning without fail.
A year ago he was overweight and sloth-like, but now he was in the best shape of his life.
All thanks to jogging.
The guy in the running shop had warned him when he popped in to buy some trainers. "It's like heroin," he'd said.
The guy was right.
Now he was out in all weathers, pounding the streets as much as possible.
Sure, he had mysterious injuries almost constantly - sore ankles, backache and a knee that sometimes made a peculiar cracking sound - but he was happy.
This morning was just the same as most others. He'd run a few miles of asphalt and was finishing off with a couple of laps of the park.
As he ran across the grass he saw something in one of the bushes by the fence. He jogged over to investigate. It was a tracksuit top and it looked nearly new. He picked it up, not sure what to do with it. He saw there was blood on it and dropped it immediately.
"Get down on the ground!" A police officer approached him with her pistol drawn.
He did as he was told.
Once on the ground he could see further into the bushes. That's when he saw the naked body of a woman. She was covered in blood. As were his hands.
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