|A nice, warm, commute - wouldn't it be nice...|
I woke up, heard the drizzle outside, felt the cold air hit me from the open window, and just for a tiny moment the temptation of the car and its comfort called me like a treacherous siren calling for sailors. And we all know how that turned out for the sailors.
So I put on my bike clothes and I chose the bike, but it didn't prevent me from casting a longing glance towards my car.
|But then I remembered one of the reasons why I'm on my bike|
The ride in was good. Since it's Martin Luther King Day, traffic was light, and the only people still going to work were people like me who have professions where there's no such thing as a bank holiday.
Two things happened. I almost got high and I could have been blown to pieces by a bomb.
None of which happened.
Both things took place on the last stretch of road in to work. And both things happened right across from the hospital.
There was a group of homeless guys standing in the middle of the sidewalk as I biked passed. Two seconds after I had passed them, I got hit by a cloud of weed. And the cloud clung on like cobwebs in an attic.
|It's not ticking and it doesn't say ACME Dynamite Factor on it|
|For sizing reference|
Perhaps the bag belonged to a construction worker who quit his job after being hit by a crane. I would quit my job too if that happened.
But man, getting flats is adding bricks to that wall real fast.