Young Guns: “It’s all just so caray-zee”
Zinc Man flashes between two cars, moving melodically in opposite ways. There he is again. I’m in a numb parade of bones as I take a morningpassagiata with my inept vocabulary and listening of birds. Just the cock-a-hoop morning and my whirling derby mind absorbing a controlled chaos of external influx. I thought he was gone. I know he’s homeless and crazy, and even a pervert, and I know he’s a local-legend cyclist, emerging like some nudnik superhero, but I don’t want to ride with him! Luckily this time I’m sans bike, just doing a morning reconnaissance for an espresso and a chocolate chip