Every afternoon chunks of lethal metal spill out of the city, and they're all mad at each other. The evening commute can be frustrating behind the wheel, but in this traffic I find escapism. My bicycle peddles get me past Sat Navs telling the poor to take the next left towards ludicrous APR and the rich in leather seats they love more than their ex-wives. It's my window of life, away from days reserved at a desk and nights of undeserved rest. That is, unless I turn left.
If I don't, then I power ahead into the cycle lane, passing Ubers stuck up each other's asspipes. I feel the wind in my face as I dart by cars and buses crawling in a slow motion notion. It feels good overtaking something 10 times my size. I know where the potholes are, so can avoid them with skill. They all want to be me or I just think they do; I don't care which. Turning left is the same distance home, but via empty side roads that avoid the traffic. I can turn left for three reasons: 1) It's raining 2) I've been drinking 3) I'm blue. At worst it's all three, but today it was just number three because I've nothing to get home for.