bicycle

wack

For blocks I peddled in the noise around me. I could hear the clicking of my pedals echoing off of the silent buildings and parked cars lined along the small downtown street. The clicking wound around me like a bubble. My chain was rusty and my pedals out of alignment. They wobbled and it was early, too early for people, too early for me to be riding my bike, too early for the creaking of my old bicycle as I struggled along the shortcut to where I was going.

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