Neglect

Some times I feel like coming back. Like trying to have something to say again. But now here, I remember why i moved on in the first place. I have nothing to say.

One day you sit down read something older than coca-cola and realize there is nothing left to be written. So just rattle off what ever you like and sell it by the pound.

My wrist is fucked. My ankle too.

Not as badly though.

I was late. Not that it was going to be trouble, but I was in a hurry. I had decided to run home for my half hour of unpaid time to relieve my sobriety and was retuning as quickly as my effort would take me. I was coming towards my destination, the enclosed parkade(a safe place to lock a bike.) With the exception of the pressure doors that allow cars in and out, the only way in takes you into the main building, and through a maze of doors. So when I nearing the end of my effort, see a car just enter the lot, I know that my chance to save a few minutes is quickly vaporizing. The door is closing, it is sliding sideways, my heart races and my legs ache as they push ever last possible pound of torque into the gears. My mind desperately trying to push through the haze and calculate the two closing distances against the length of my handle bars, positive and negative flipping back and forth with each down turn of the crank. I can make it it, my mind tells me i can make it, but i cannot slow down. I cannot slow down at all. I am going, I am going very fast, and if the door closes too far i am now in no position to be stopping, i had a chance to not take the risk but now it is gone. The Door, The Distance, My Handle Bars. In one perfect moment all together. Both side of my handle bars hit, perfectly i pass through with no space to spare, directly i run into the parkade closing arm.

It is about a cars length in on the other side of the closing door, to stop cars from driving in with out taking a ticket. i think i hit the breaks. i don't think it mattered.

Another day.

I was at work, a coworker walks up to me, and greeting each other we slap hands. Then, as if was instinctual we both simultaneously clap our hands, then again as if it was some how meant to be, we slap hand again, clap, slap, clap, slap back and forth four or five times before i fell to the ground in hysterics.


Some Americans do not know what a parkade is.


BUehen