I love the way bicycles collect at traffic lights. The way they appear from the cracks between cars and busses. Arriving from different lanes, at different speeds, gathering in darkness delicate and human in front of a moving wall of engines.

I broke my glasses a while ago and haven’t got them fixed yet. The traffic in front of me as I stare down the road is just a tangle of lights in the dark. An eyecluster. 

I’m cold ears and hot hands in gloves. My throat stings. I listen to music too loudly, and I cycle with the thought of smashing my front teeth into the road sitting in the back of my head, like a thorn in my foot.

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