the long ride home in this furious sway of a wind, uphill and alone, was made more difficult by the flailing inability of my bicycle's chain to remain in traction upon the gear hub.
i would ride in the darkness, which was only offset by the intermittent blinking flash of my headlight, and with every quiver of the frame and its weight upon a mildly uneven surface, the chain would pop off without any remorse.
i would have to grimace inward, slow down to a crawl, hop off, and realign the loose mechanics; fingers dirty and thickly slick with grease, legs aching from the interrupted pace.
i could see the light of my building, like a somber beacon wooing me home with its illuminating siren qualities. fiddling with the keys, plodding up the two flights with the bicycle held aloft, the victory of arriving home felt like a warn weary engagement with a host unimpressed.
i was home, and there was no reverie, excepting the pleasure of being home.
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avril 02:
avril 03:
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avril 05:
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