as I make the right turn onto bryant street a quick glance to my left is all I need to know I am clear. fuck the stop sign fuck the half glow of the streetlights fuck the couple arm in arm who a step or two ahead of themselves would have met my right handlebar my right elbow and my bloody mouth spitting at them. hey. the guy shouts. nice night. I yell back. with only one gear building speed is the hardest part but once I get there my legs are like pistons pumping in rhythm somebody measure my rpms please. this late at night the bars are closing and I have to be careful at these red lights because any drivers out here have at least one drink in them timing is everything if I can count down my distance by the numbers next to the flashing orange hand four three two one I want to look like a white blur keeping within six inches of sideview mirrors of parked cars. I pass another bike the girl has long curly hair and a basket on her handlebars I make an Indian call as I fly past her and swerve around a Prius who undoubtedly had the right of way. the air is crisp I have been doing these laps for an hour and I cruise right past my building again. this time I dont even look up bryant street or try to slow down I think if a car is coming its coming and there is no way my brakes would catch in time and anyway Ive tasted the pavement before and I know to pull my tongue inside my teeth so I dont bite it off. the toe of my sneaker grazes the asphalt as I lean to make the sharp right but nothing else touches me but the wind. I exhale and drive my legs so hard down on the pedals that soon I am standing leaning forward my chest is out over the handlebars three two one wont make this one I jam on the brakes and a homeless guy pushing a cart waits next to me for the cross traffic to pass. where are you going. he says and I realize how much I am sweating. same place you are. I say. in circles. I push off and when I look back he is smiling. five four three fuck it.