Bicycles in the rain.

I stand in the doorway, squinting, getting high on smoke and ozone. Dawn traces her fingertip along the eastern horizon, smiling, slowly seducing the rain into Texas sunshine. It's six am, and my personal morning can't afford to be coy. A final drag on my crumbling cigarette, humble and hand-rolled. A young life spent waiting: for busses, for boys, for bars to close, and still these cigarettes crumble and break and burn uneven. Like so many things, I can never get it right. Sighing, I wrap myself in the hoodie I've had since high school, big and warm as a baby blanket, and charge into that warm wet morning. The chrome of my bike catches the lights of traffic, winking for me alone. I run to greet my ride, my personal Pegasus, and we fly into the dawn. Her tires toss puddles and piss and puke as we push past closed shops and bus stops and sad vagrants who watch lightning like TV, thunder rumbling above like an angry parent. The air is intoxicating, sweet as whiskey with a sharp bite of ozone that warms you inside. Gasping, I pull at the air like shots from a bottle. Finally my last mile and nobody around, a single soaking soul on that slick strip of tar and concrete, my heart a solitary war drum against the persistent patter of the rain. Home in the distance, an oasis of golden light and warmth and what sounds like Stravinsky playing through the window and like a needle yanked from a record my brake pads cry a shrill scream of anguish as the ride abruptly ends and I shove through the door, shivering and gasping as a newborn infant. I peel my clothes like extra skin, greasy shirt and salsa-stained jeans, soggy socks the color of moldy bread, thin layer of smog-smell and salty sweat. I set the bath to blistering and watch the water rise and swell, steaming with heat. With a shake of the head, I managed to stumble to the fridge, knees weak with exertion, and pull a beer from the fridge. I pop the top as I slowly slide into the tub, lie back, warm water tucked under chin like a blanket. Eyes closed, beer in hand, I succumb to sweet underwater sounds, mind gone pure as a summer morning in Texas.