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Wednesday, September 8, 2010

In the bellows

Busted down onto the bridge and I imagined the plank between my side of the Miller Valley and the other starting to crumble and give way. I pedal harder and skim over the falling cement like a dragon fly. I take the bike I bought from a poor friend and ride its orange body with my half mullet. The valley hisses and the factory valves scream.

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