Keeping pace with Thugs.

Finally, another day done. Five more hours to add to the five hours I clocked in yesterday. Time to head home and prepare myself to do it all again tomorrow. I feel the weight of it, the pressure of knowing my days are wrapped around a corporations schedule, press against me as I unlock my bike and begin to make my way home. Everything I do for five days out of the week is based on the hours I work. And a good portion of the time I do have free is spent getting myself ready to do it all again. another cog in the machine.
  These thoughts brew around me as I weave my way past pedestrians on my bike. My uniform sticks to the small of my back, the air is still hot and humid from the day. I turn a corner and have to slam on my breaks. The rusty gears groan, just barely stopping me in time. My obstacle is a couple of guys in their early twenties making an obvious drug deal on the corner.  Their bikes lull at their feet, blocking my way home. My eyes narrow as I sit waiting for them to part and let me pass. No such luck. They act like I'm not even there as they mumble between each other, shoulders hunched under the weight of their gold chains. I sigh dramatically, but it could just as easily be the breeze of a passing car to them. Traffic is brisk and sharp at this hour, not safe for me to ride in. Especially since the city has yet to add a bike lane to this busy downtown street. I'm banished to the tiny side walk, which I have to also share with pedestrians and apparently street thugs.
  Eventually they part, going in opposite directions of each other on their bikes. I roll my eyes as I remount my own bike. It seems as if I spend every waking hour waiting for other people to tell me when I can come and go. My mood is even darker as I gain momentum again, still a mile away from my bed. Suddenly out of the dusk the back of the thug comes into view. I have caught up with him on his bike way too small for him. His knees touch his chin with each pedal and he's moving along at a leisurely pace. One hand hangs limp at his side as if he's steering a Cadillac instead of a Huffy. Who is this guy kidding?
I stop pedaling, preparing to coast past him, but break when he jerks out in front of me. My eyes snap over, what the fuck? I almost ran into him! Traffic zips past on my right, a row of bustling art galleries line my left. Tourist and locals alike drift in and out of the bubbling shops. Once again I attempt to coast past, on his left this time. I am forced to break hard when he jerks out in front of me, his back tire buzzing against my front. "You can't catch me!" he yells, and begins to pedal faster.
Shocked into disbelief, I stare at the back of his black T-shirt. Is this guy crazy? His Diamond stud earrings flash in the fading light. Suddenly it hits me, why not? I speed up and glide right in next to him before he can cut me off. We're neck in neck when I shout, "come on! You can't keep up with this!"
 I stay in pace with him for another block, giggling as we race each other, both of us half trying to gain the lead. His grill shines gold and platinum from his laughing mouth. His laugh is cut short, suddenly he's pointing to the crowd of people trickling out of the art gallery a block in front of us. "We bout to hit them!" he yells over to me over the roar of traffic.
My head tilts back, laughter exploding out of me. Now it's his turn to wonder if I'm crazy. I glance behind me and pick up speed, leaving him in my wake. Moments before I reach the group of art-walkers I veer off of the side walk and into a gap in traffic. Behind me I can hear the nameless thug whooping, cheering me on. The smile on my face is genuine, I feel as if I could fly! I know I'm radiating pure joy the last few blocks before I am home, a happiness that wasn't planned or scheduled.