hot water, wool, velcro, visual evidence of breathing in my white exhale.
cap under my helmet, mb-3, asphalt to start.
out loud proclamation from the morning commute: "If I could have my ass re-covered with Brooks leather, I'd do it."
not me, brother. I do prefer to sit on it during the dry days, though.
make my escape via dirt, blackberry thorns, tall, wet, grass. surfing banked corners, animal footprints, log ride.
coffee, blueberry pancakes, dark eyeliner, blonde hair, dark tips, tattoo peaking out over the hem of the front of her jeans. see you tommorrow, scott? yes, you will.
kids wanting to talk about guns, shooting, text messages found online. occupy the minds with the arc welder and steel lugs. teach one the radial lacing of his new track wheel. kept the kids on the path one more day.
I have never seen a generation go from smiling to angry as quickly as this group. they have grown up so quickly. hypodeveloped into young adults in such a short time. is the internet a gift, or is it a curse?
sound of cleats clipping in, the buzz of a king's angry bees, big cheese grips, eagles hunting by the river, geese on the bike path, children on a swingset, doggy pit stop stations, kitty in my window. smile.