The commuting vehicles roared up the street like usual, then retreated back to their blackened

caves, like stir-crazed bats fleeing as prey. They whirled on the road lit in a wavering dusk. All the

while, yellowish white streaks of light struck my optic nerves with nauseating force, as though

they were beating me down; and so I screamed, muted. The cars kept going.

Next to me was an ice cream joint, next to it, a cyclist racing among the dim, steel plethora of the

road - and next to him was the tunneled blackness I couldn't understand. How was the man alive?

He had only two flimsy wheels among a motorized Genghis of four-wheeled demons in cold,

metallatic, pornagraphic, routine fucking. He navigated this all while the dead of night crept

nearer. He was going to die horribly, I knew. As soon as the light flushed red, in a moment of

presumed absence, he struck the back of a truck and became sandwiched by another crashing into

him, instantly sending him far down to hell. Shaped into flattened man-tuna - he laid dead. He was

as beaten badly as a man could have possibly been, and his bones were strewn through his flesh,

so much so his whole warped body looked as if it had been wrapped all up in a cast done by a

drunken medical student possessed of a sadistic streak.

I vomited while simultaneously trying not to avert my gaze from a marriage so gruesomely

beautiful - I fainted down to the ground hitting my head, dying for what felt like a second -

waking to a distraught slobbering man with a waffle cone in his glutton hand. He asked me if I

was “OK”, saying to me as I lied like an un-puppeted doll. I groveled back: “I’m alright, I don't

know what happened to me.”

While blue and white lights flashed next to us like a rapture, He helped me up. “I got ice cream

and then I came over here to see what happened on the road and saw you lying dead, you really

had me worried.” he sang with a frowning face like that of a comic clown. He looked back at the
EMTS over on the road pretending to try to save an obviously dead man. I told him with

certainty, “That guy had it coming, I knew he was gonna die before he died.” He looked back at

me without words, as if gazing at an overly honest fortune teller, and I smiled in delirium to him,

drunk from the fall. Together, in differing silence and awe, watched them pick up the biker’s

lifeless body and put it on the stretcher like it was the fourth of July. All the stuck-up drivers sat

pissed in a lack of patience, absolutely careless of who had been killed. It was a beautiful moment

of confusion, sent by a laughing god who knew humor too well. I was not sad, but, rather, I was

happy.