Explosions in the Sky
On my commute this morning, at Montana and Ocean, I skidded to a stop and my back tire popped. In the few weeks since I’ve had these tires — I still call them “my new tires” — I’d skidded through the rubber. The noise was surprisingly loud, and a middle-aged woman in a convertible next to me screamed and clutched her throat with one hand. As I got off my bike I smiled at her and shrugged — what can you do? She shook her head.
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