The
phaltweary smog rider proves her phaltworthiness by bicycling the
phaltscape. The evidence of her efforts lie in her callused hands, in
her creaking bones, and in gritty, fleeting smiles that threaten
sometimes to skate across her youthful and vibrant face. She accepts
her station in life so long as she is allowed the exhilarating
freedom of gliding around town atop a skinny metal sled. If she can
ride smog in the city of her choosing, she has beef with no man.
But
what happens when injury, weather, or mechanical failure incapacitate
the smog rider, and keep him from his Rounds? He will descend slowly
but surely into the same type of madness that inflicts any proud and
majestic beast that is kept away from its preordained way of life.
Similar to a tiger taken from the jungle, the smog rider who cannot
ride will develop a variety of diseases, among them shingles,
bulimia, and long spells of wild-eyed, howling insanity. He will move
about the area in which he is confined with increasingly erratic and
violent movements until such time as he must be contained to avoid
damaging himself. The color will flee from his once-rosy cheeks, he
will put on weight, and his overall happiness will decrease markedly.
If
your smog-rider begins to develop symptoms similar to those mentioned
above – if she turns cranky, impatient, or bossy, or if she loses
sight suddenly of the horrible beauty of life itself – get her onto
a bicycle and out in the phaltscape as quickly as you can. Every
school-aged child knows that to keep an animal locked up far from its
usual habitat is cruel and unusual punishment. She who smog-mashes, her insanity dashes.
Spes
Mea In Ratio Est - 場黑麥
John Paul Roggenkamp
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