Bicycle past police lights twisting the blue from the night, past a man setting a a box on fire to make a pot of tea. Lean forward enough and it's as if you're floating, as if there's no machine supporting you, the earth spinning an inch below your feet. Blur your eyes and sing a little song to yourself to keep upright- the song keyed to the rhythm of pedaling. Skim over the dark earth, arms spread, the sign of the cross, Look Ma, no hands, crucified by the air, crucified by the night. Who doesn't just want to disappear, at some point in the day, in a year, just to step off the map and float?
Nick Flynn, Another Bullshit Night in Suck City
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