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The bike was my friend. I was wishing I had given it a bath. The world has most definitely gone mad. This is why I don’t get out much. Shit happens to me that cannot happen to most people.

I pedal robotically and think of the advice that a court appointed therapist gave me one time,
something about finding a “zombie like state” in which to exist while I deal with the world at large.

The weed is outstanding, which is to say that the world at large is a
myriad of extreme sensations, a collage of insanity that fills my cup.
Insanity is a need I have and the only thing that fills this cup. It is a
successful outing already, and I’m not even at Starbucks yet. Starbucks
always fills my cup. The employees, the customers, they all play at a speed
unique to themselves. My mouth is dry, and I cannot wait for the rest of the
experience that awaits me.

A horn honks and jolts me from my thoughts. Teenagers are laughing
at me. I don’t know what I did, but I flip them off angrily and they laugh
harder. I laugh too. It’s OK. It’s really OK and maybe it is funny, but I better
not catch them later. They better not go to Starbucks.

I can smell winter leaves. They are dry on the ground and take me to a
winter childhood and I was in California. We lived on a cul-de-sac and a
kid, a teenage kid with a grown-up bow and arrow set, was there, and all us
kids were gathered around and he was launching arrows high into space,
straight into space and they would sing their way back to Earth and come
smacking into the blacktop cul-de-sac. It was one of the most exhilarating
things I’ve ever experienced, and it came to an end in predictable fashion
when someone’s mother came screaming onto the scene and pulled the plug.

There was another honk and I was jolted again and it was the same
teenage pranksters laughing gaily as if this was OK. I rode up to the
passenger window and smiled for all I was worth. The window came down
and a pimply little dipshit grinned back and I grabbed him by the shirt and
started pulling. The bike clanked into the car and fell to the street. I was
holding onto him and running alongside the car as I picked up speed. A girl
in the car was screaming bloody murder.

“Get off him! Get off him!”

The car outran me and I was left with tattered scraps of cotton in my
hand. The whole world was looking when I went back to get the bike.

Didn’t they have anything to do? I tossed the scraps to the ground and got
back on my trusty blue ride. I was really getting thirsty.

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