Poetry? Yeah I do that sometimes, sorry...
It should maybe be called Futility of Motion but whatever. Text after the break
I went for a bike ride
after bar-close
to see the world
in shades of golden gray.
I made break-neck speeds
down empty streets
skidded helpless over ice
and well packed snow.
I blew through stop signs
and traffic lights
past weaving pedestrians
on the look out for cops.
I found myself
at the same cafe
as the rest of the night shift rejects
kept company
by one dollar coffee
no room for cream.
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