Kill or Top Off

Took a brisk ride into work today. The first several cold days of the year are always the worst. Should I accessorize the black baklava and the white Specialized compression socks or the green wool beanie with the red Louis Garneau’s mid socks? I examine myself in the mirror from the side, front and back. Every once in awhile I nail it. This was not one of those mornings. I ran out of time, so I put on my cycling heels and clicked through the kitchen and out the back door like the little hussy that I am.

The roads are still pretty empty. Sunday riding during a Monday commute. Long lines of people attempting to catch the bus into the Manhattan. I pedal on sipping my coffee, looking at our new reality. When there’s a shortage on 700×35 tires or latte’s and I have to wait in ridiculous lines, then I’ll truly feel the pinch and will probably be in a land called Portland.

I paused in my commute to check on my crossing guard buddy Jerry. He gave me a sucker, patted me on the helmet and stopped traffic so I could cross. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and kept on up the road.

Kill or top-off

I passed by other long, snaking lines that I knew were for gas stations even though I never even caught a whiff of gasoline.

I’ve seen the ugliness in people come out. I always reckoned that ugliness was never that far from the surface to start. Doesn’t take much before people are drawing weapons on one another for survival. Kill or top-off. To draw a weapon over a tank of gas says that we are only as civil as our resources are plentiful. I guess I already knew that, but that reality is usually only reserved for places far, far away like Louisiana.

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