This morning I rode through the Gates of Hell.
At least, some people thought they were: They were driving to do things they had to do. On the other hand, I was cycling to something I had to do. I reckon, though, that the thing I had to do was less onerous than the things some of those drivers were going to spend their day doing.
It's probably a good thing they couldn't, or didn't, see what was below and beside them, in Hell Gate.
I could not see the water, either. I could not see the cables of the RFK Bridge, except for the ones nearest to me. All I could see were the lights of cars and trucks. They were only reflections of the moment, repeated again and again.
All I could do was to move through them, through time, across the bridge over Hell Gate.
At least, some people thought they were: They were driving to do things they had to do. On the other hand, I was cycling to something I had to do. I reckon, though, that the thing I had to do was less onerous than the things some of those drivers were going to spend their day doing.
It's probably a good thing they couldn't, or didn't, see what was below and beside them, in Hell Gate.
I could not see the water, either. I could not see the cables of the RFK Bridge, except for the ones nearest to me. All I could see were the lights of cars and trucks. They were only reflections of the moment, repeated again and again.
All I could do was to move through them, through time, across the bridge over Hell Gate.
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