“Watch where you’re
going, jackass!”
Dusty wiped the sweat
from his forehead as he raced through the city streets on his bicycle. He
ignored the angry shouts and the belligerent man. He was a courier and he had
a package to deliver. Come rain, sleet, hail, or the hot ass blazing sun that
was melting his brain, Michelson Inc. was going to get this dang envelope.
He wheeled through the
heavy traffic and was nearly clipped on the back tire by a cabby as he rounded
the corner.
“I’ll sue you if I hit
you!” the cabby yelled as his fist pumped in the air.
“You have to catch me
first, you—” Dusty screeched as he ran into a newspaper stand, taking a dive,
and landing on his side.
Fuck, that hurt.
“Are you okay?” a man
asked as he walked by, but didn’t stop.
Dusty groaned and then
rolled to his feet, dusting his pants off. He grimaced as he noticed that he
had scrapped the palms of his hands, and scratched up a few knuckles. Thank
the gods he wore a helmet—although the thing sported more scraps and dings
than a race car—knees pads, and elbow pads.
He walked over to his
bike, inspected the wheels, and was relieved that it didn’t have any serious
damage. Buying a new bike would totally suck. He had gone through three
already this year.
And it was only May.
Hopping back onto his
bike, Dusty started down the sidewalk, racing toward his destination. He was
on a time crunch and he needed to get this envelope to its owner.
“Get off of the damn
sidewalk, you moron!”
Dusty hopped the curb,
steered around Adam’s Avenue, and was one happy camper when he saw the large
and looming building ahead. The investment building was made mostly of glass,
had a large front courtyard so Dusty had somewhere to park his bike, and a
directory which was easy to follow.
It wasn’t his first time
delivering to the firm, though.
Dusty tried to pull his
leg over the bike, and ride the one peddle like he had seen the other
courier’s do until he reached his destination and then simply hop off of the
peddle, but it didn’t work out exactly as he wanted it to.
It never did.
But he kept on trying
anyway.
Dusty’s pant leg became
caught on the other peddle, and he soon found himself lying on the ground, his
bike smack dab on top of him, the back wheel still rolling.
Fuck, that hurt.
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