Being tired is no fun, it makes everything hard. I have a very fat cat who will scratch at the door incessantly an hour or two before I have to get up. I want to turn him into domesticated sausage.
Two fancy tour buses climbed the torn up hill with me on Halsted and Chicago. When they pulled ahead of me their enormous tail pipes were at eye level, and it was hard not to think of buttholes spewing poison gas in my face. I ordered a respirator on the internet, but my friend Dominick says it's going to be pretty tough to breathe through that thing while I'm riding my bike. When I got to work there was a guy eating a sandwich in a huge truck, just idling right in front of the door. It was upwind, and the exhaust fumes were so thick I had a lot of trouble locking up my bike, which is a rather complicated operation, or at least I make it so. I kept coughing and giving him dirty looks because there was no reason for his truck to be on.
In which I shamelessly abuse the internet.
1 comment:
I miss Chicago's bike lanes. The bike lines in Oakland and SF are pretty rare, and when they are around they sometimes disappear for a block or two, or they're literally just the gutter with the picture of a bike painted in it every few yards.
My fat cat has fatty liver disease, and now we have to feed her with a syringe.
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