Excerpt from Via Como El Diablo
By Ratius Roadius
Mercury Rising #7, August 1992
The light is just about to change as I stomp down hard on the pedal.I've got to get in front of that bus or get stuck sucking fumes. It’s springtimein Philly and I'm feeling like the luckiest dog in the world. They payme to ride a bike?! On this beautiful sunny day! Man, I'm lovin' life andlivin' large; the best beer, the kill pro, and a Schwinn Cruiser 5-speedwith white wall, studded balloon tires. Black frame with white trim, anuncut basket and an experimental posi-trac system where, upon shifting,the "click" takes place in the rear derailleur, not in the shifter.It is from this vantage that I can only look down in pity upon them all.From the dirt-caked homeless person, digging through our refuse to sustainthemselves just a little longer. To the mindless suit, ensnared in hisboring routine and his mortgage, loan payment, insurance payment, and highpressure jobs with impossible deadlines. They're all fucked and I got itmade; top of the world!
Now I'm pulling ahead and cutting over to the right, just barely infront of the bus, slowly extending my lead. High on an adrenalin rush broughton by a mixture of fear and physical exertion, oblivious to the burningin my legs. Faster now, that wind feels good on my sweety face. I stopfor no one, not the cops, or the thieves, or the ho's, scammers, and panhandlers.I leave them all behind me. I hear "Hey, you wanna good..." or"Wait, let me ask..." Their voices trail off. I don't listen,I don't listen to their lies, laws, or pleas. Untouchable!
Way out in front now, relaxing a little and enjoying the feel of mycruiser's momentum, allowing me to shift gear. Just then my chain comesfully off the front chain ring. My Chuck Taylor slaps the street as thepedal digs into my Achilles tendon, drawing blood. Losing the battle tomaintain balance, on the way down I'm vaguely aware of a woman screaming.Or is it just a ringing in my ears as my heed smacks the pavement? Theshadow of the bus is racing towards me and the high-pitch wail in my headis joined by the angry screech of brakes frying. The sound gets higherand louder, the bus shadow is on me now and the noise tears at my nerves.
Fuck, I think, now I'm dead. My life is flashing by, so I figure theend is near. Then, as if in slow motion I roll over end look up, as thebus' grill stops inches from my face. Not as untouchable as I thought,I guess.
click here for a listof messenger zines
If you have comments or suggestions, email me at messvilleto@yahoo.com