"working on my faults and cracks..."


finding pieces lost in the flood

The change from winter to spring is always gradual, so it's not until that first day where the mercury hits 55, where I realize I have, in my current possession, not a single pair of shorts--a conundrum quickly rectified by borrowing a pair of scissors from my devoutly religious neighbor. Anyone with a bicycle quickly realizes the sub-45 degree temperature threshold has been broken, including the city's fair-weather commuting peloton; a tour-de-force of fingerless gloves and flabby spandex that transforms the city's bike lanes into a clumsy stream of Treks, Motobecanes, and Lamonds, freshly dusted off from a purgatorial winter spent hanging on a garage wall. Though I've already been riding all winter, and through some incredibly shitty (albeit subjective) weather, donning fresh cutoffs and a v-neck, and mashing on the pedals whilst giving the pasty-white skin its first chance to rejoice the triumphant return of Spring, is a euphoria experienced only once per year. 

Spent some time at the temple yesterday, fountain-watching and Mormon-watching, and waiting for the radio to squawk out another pickup. Three weeks ago, I would have spent this standby time sucking down an expresso, and three months ago, holed up in my apartment, cursing the skies. The Mormons tell me this has been a mild winter, but they're also the ones with who built a massive concrete bunker network into my hill, and installed cellphone-jamming technologies on temple grounds, so I take their somewhat blasé meteorological conspiracy theories with a grain of salt. 

Regardless, after a day of chasing traffic and racing the clock in some actual sunshine, it feels damn near perfect to lift open a window and catch a sunset in prime time. 

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