rusty

I.
It’s just like riding a bike. Except the bike you’re now straddling has sat so long in the corner of the yard. All the while you were thinking I could just hop on and ride anytime now as that bike was working on it’s rust collection and gearing up to stop you in your tracks.

II.
The maps were all laid out–chicken scratch notes to self on where you would head once the hankering to ride bit you–foolishly forgetting the care and maintenance needed to keep the wheels in motion.

III.
Now, with sisyphean strides, get to sanding. Too many pale hued hubristic dicks showing off their bicycles these days. No time to waste idly pining for hankerings when the world needs more cunnies on the road.

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