Metal Dust

The cat yowls at me as I pull to the side and watch as the police cars wail past me. Two toward me, two away, and they all turn at the light and head up the hill. I can’t hear the doppler for the cacophony and when I look back for the cat, it has long since vanished. Such is the spectacle that I expect men in eye-masks, carrying hessian sacks overflowing with bills, to come sprinting around the corner, firing guns at the pursuant men in blue. No cat, no men, no nothing.

Starting is the hardest part, as I am already unbalanced and the toe clip on the left spins like an out-of-control show ride, threatening to catch the pedal against the ground and upturn me. On Saturday I saw someone doing this with grace and dignity, a far cry from my slow and wobbly progression northward. However, I allow myself the concession that he had proper pedal clips, and one less leg to worry about – then catch myself wondering how he managed the stopping at lights part that I have so far struggled to negotiate.

And then my mobile begins to buzz in my pocket. I don’t want to look for fear of… for fear of, what? Knowing? Not knowing? Enough. Just answer.

Barry explains that I could enjoy a free, seven day holiday to anywhere in Australia for only $199 with all meals and travel inclusive. I assume this is the very loose interpretation of free they’re passing around in call-centres these days, and I counter-offer my somewhat narrower definition for “get fucked.”

The trick is two half revolutions to get your speed up, then angling your foot, toes to the sky, as you complete further revolutions in complete forward circles. The lights, the phone and the extra leg remain, as yet, unsolved variables.

Posted in Mwah on Wednesday March 26, 2008.