interchangeable machinery, people
For the past two days, hours have melted away from consciousness. Cars roar past. Leaves flutter violently from the passage of the slightest breeze. The filtered sunlight through the canopy above stuns and invigorates our wearied yet capable bodies. In the company of active personalities, bliss is found. The entire day is surreal and perfect in its many flaws.
The chain of events leading up to this moment began when a car plunged into the bicycle carrying my body to work.
Oh fuck. It's really happening -again! Shit, shit, shit! This isn't so bad, but I hope my bike is all right. There goes the paint job. What a slick coat of black this beast of a car has... Here comes the asphalt. This is the part I hate the worst!
A splash of blood on my bracelet, a bent fender, a mangled saddle bag, a knee with the most brilliant bruise witnessed in months, and a boundless collection of confusion conclude the transaction.
Animated by the rush of andrenalin and survival instincts, my legs propel the damaged body off the ground and to the side of the street. The bicycle is crying but the only words that come out of this confused mouth are "IS YOUR CAR OKAY? I'm fine. I'm fine." Just leave me alone. The reality of pain will arrive once the initial shock wears off twenty-some minutes from now.
The sum of the events of the day fall just short of feeling genuine in the daze afterwards. What is all of this for?
The chain of events leading up to this moment began when a car plunged into the bicycle carrying my body to work.
Oh fuck. It's really happening -again! Shit, shit, shit! This isn't so bad, but I hope my bike is all right. There goes the paint job. What a slick coat of black this beast of a car has... Here comes the asphalt. This is the part I hate the worst!
A splash of blood on my bracelet, a bent fender, a mangled saddle bag, a knee with the most brilliant bruise witnessed in months, and a boundless collection of confusion conclude the transaction.
Animated by the rush of andrenalin and survival instincts, my legs propel the damaged body off the ground and to the side of the street. The bicycle is crying but the only words that come out of this confused mouth are "IS YOUR CAR OKAY? I'm fine. I'm fine." Just leave me alone. The reality of pain will arrive once the initial shock wears off twenty-some minutes from now.
The sum of the events of the day fall just short of feeling genuine in the daze afterwards. What is all of this for?