Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
posted by jeremy on May 28, 2003
Your bike moves easy & you head for dark coffee, harsh smokes, the ugly news of the New York Times, a bagel with the sweetest of honey.
Now it's time for a beer. Mexican beer with lime: Sweet Tecate. So you go to your friend's house with a six pack or maybe two. Drink. Drink. Drink. Now go buy another six pack. The insidious glory of ethyl alcohol.
The sun is heading west, vast brilliant coward. Stars soon will twinkle their cold fire above your drunken skull. HOOO! You yell, happy & stupid. You sit out on the porch with your friend, talking about everything from the possible future predominance of nanotechnology to Greta Garbo to cheat techniques on Grand Theft Auto Vice City: you fucking geeks. Traffic toils. Some guy bums a cigarette off of you. Beautiful girls ride past on sleek road bikes...
Above all, summer burns your skin.
Midnight rolls around. It's time to go. You kick out onto the mostly empty Thursday morning streets. The slight maladjustment in your chain bothers you but it's OK, everything's OK. You ride at a steady pace, pretty drunken, sure of yourself. You are thinking of the future, immediate, long-term, fucking all of it & it does not oppress you this time, it exhilarates you, it makes you glad. The moon is up, glowing orange, smog or dense atmosphere, you don't fucking care, it's fucking beautiful. HOOOO! You yell again, rioting in your own small way.
& you don't even notice the car that kills you.
