Limestone Ledger

BLOOMINGTON, IN — Sunday morning a defeated local man stepped out into the unforgiving daylight, glanced down, saw his own shadow trailing him on the sidewalk, and immediately knew winter was not the only thing lasting longer than expected.

Much like Punxsutawney Phil predicting six more weeks of winter, the appearance of the shadow confirmed what science, experience, and his friends yelling “bro, come on!” the night before had already suggested — two more weeks of antibiotics were inevitable.

Witnesses report the man emerged from an off-campus residence sometime between “why is the sun this loud?” and “hello hair of the dog…” wearing yesterday’s jeans, a hoodie that was not his, and the hollow stare of someone replaying decisions like game film.

“I didn’t even need symptoms,” the man said, shielding his eyes from the sun like a vampire who just realized the blood was toxic. “The shadow told me everything I needed to know. My shadow don’t lie.”

According to local tradition, no shadow would have meant an early spring, with a clean conscience, a confident strut, maybe even brunch. But the shadow appeared in full, unbroken form, stretching across the pavement like a CDC advisory.

Friends confirmed the signs were there the night before.

“He passed on the rubber the way you pass on a bong because you just want to feel everything,” said one friend, who asked not to be named because he was “also there and not innocent.” “Once you hear ‘it’s fine, I’m totally clean,’ you’re basically flipping the VD coin.”

By 9:03 a.m., the man had already typed “urgent care near me” with the muscle memory of someone who has done this exact thing before. Medical professionals say they recognized him immediately.

“He didn’t even sit down,” said a clinic employee. “Just walked in and said, ‘Phil saw his shadow.’ We printed the doxy.”

Experts say Bloomington experiences a sharp uptick in antibiotic prescriptions every winter, particularly after weekends involving drink specials, nostalgic texting, and the phrase “u in town?”

Despite the setback, the man remains upbeat.

“Worth it?” he said, pausing. “No. Would I do it again? Statistically speaking, a hundred percent.”

At press time, local officials reminded residents that while Punxsutawney Phil is celebrated with pageantry, hats, and tourism dollars, Bloomington’s version of seasonal prediction ends quietly, usually in sweatpants, under fluorescent lights, with a paper bag stapled shut and instructions to “finish the entire course.”

Spring, sources confirm, will come eventually. The antibiotics just come first.