Oh, no. That sounds bad. Maybe it's just a temporary hiccup? Nope, that is more like vomit. Did I not put out my cigarette? Oh, that's the engine smoking. And now the key won't come out of the ignition. Great. What is this, a Final Destination type scenario? I did narrowly avoid that Kroger-brand spinach recall. Come on, don't do this to me. I really need some Popeye's chicken. Plus I drive for Jimmy John's and my bicycle pedal is broken and I'm scared to ride it in the city. The bike lane is there for a reason but no one respects it. Yet only hypocrites ride on the sidewalk! *puts head against steering wheel* And what is this going to do to my nascent comedy career? I have small groups of strangers to embarrass myself in front of all across the Tri-State region.

*    *    *

*calls mother on phone* Mom? Did I already borrow all your money? Almost, huh? Well, I'm going to try to make this work but you might want to clean up my old room just in case. No, I don't want to move home—I've tasted of Indian buffet—but my car is dead and I don't have any savings and my credit is cliche millennial and my job sucks and I have this weird nervous twitch in my leg—I know that doesn't have much to do with the car but it's another symptom I can't afford to get diagnosed—and the worst part is I once had money. But I spent it all on drugs to impress girls. And distract me from my impending mortality. Like grandpa. Poor sweet grandpa. Hey, who inherited his Lincoln Town Car, anyway?

*    *    *

You got a loan for a car by telling the bank you wanted to drive for Uber? And they bought it? Man, you must have good credit. What's your definition of “no”? Have your wages ever been garnished? Do you have any outstanding subscriptions to book clubs you signed up for in middle school just for one Anne Rice novel? Have you ever stepped on a toothpick? Huh, that sounds legit. You're really doing something. I guess they have to trust you when you make a plan. Basically, you went into business for yourself. I admire that. See, my car is dead. Normally, I'm my own Uber. Yeah, I molest myself. *laughs, looks over, clears throat* That was a really stupid, thoughtless thing to say. Please don't hold that against me or my user rating. Why are you pulling over?

*    *    *

Let's take this out for a spin. God, I haven't ridden a bike for years. Okay, that still works. Yes, I have thighs. Thick thighs. Strong thighs. Thunder god thighs. But Jane, not Thor. Traffic ahead. That's intense. Maybe I should just swing over onto the sidewalk—no, goddammit, I'm better than that. If I can't afford to get a new car and don't want to have to get a bus pass, then this is my only option. Pedal on, Garth. You used to be brave for like two years between awkward adolescent and adult anxiety disorder. Oh, to be sixteen and pleasantly stoned again. Remember Dr. Albert Hoffman. He rode a bike on LSD. I'm just on Limestone Street. Fuck! That was close. Who drives a pickup truck in the city? You're not hauling firewood! And if you are, I hope there are wolf spiders in it. Do wolf spiders like firewood? Hope they like to bite bastards. Shit, I ran that red light. You can't have it both ways – either you have the rights of a car or the rights of a pedestrian. A bicyclist must have a code. How do I make a turn signal?

*    *    *

Wwwhhheee! I haven't felt this alive in a long, long time. I wish I was listening to Fleet Foxes right now. It isn't that dangerous, is it? I drive with earbuds in sometimes. Like that time I hit that curb that jilted the thing that broke my car. Still, I feel like I'm getting the hang of this new lifestyle of mine. Walking and riding and smelling like B.O. Some women like that. Crunchy ones. I don't mind crystals, I just hate talking about them. Why can't they just be pretty paperweights? Why do they also have to cure cancer? It's ok. Everything will be ok. I don't need fossil fuels or steady employment or driving an hour to a coffee shop to bomb. I'm just a man on a bicycle, zooming down a hill, rapidly approaching a garbage truck whilst smiling—

*    *    *

You really think I can sue the city? Because I could use a new car. And physical therapy, obviously.

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