The rain started to soak through the seams of my “waterproof” jacket. Questioning the logic behind most everything I do has become a theme over the course of the last few months and today’s ride through the wet streets of San Francisco was yet another moment of uncertainty.

Dodging cars and buses, a red light stopped me in my greasy, asphalt path. Trying to shield themselves from the rain, people rushed the crosswalk. Random girl. Random guy. An infant in a stroller screamed from the depths of carriage while some tech douche in $400 shoes and a Pabst Blue Ribbon t-shirt arranged the details of a 2-million-dollar condo purchase.

I thought about money. I decided to change the subject.

I thought about parenthood. I decided to change the subject.

I thought about life, love and what would happen to Cristi if I wound up splattered all over the front fender of a car or random SUV. I envisioned perfectly good organs flying through the air and remembered the strawberry preserves I’d bought the day before at Safeway.

In my hasty effort to get out the door, I’d completely missed my morning toast. Damn it. Feeling slightly sorry for myself, I made eye contact with an old guy slowly pulling his worn out body through the intersection.

“Motherfuckers trying to keep me down! Motherfuckers!” he yelled my direction.

Looking back on things, I think I know the motherfuckers he’s talking about. They’re bastards, but no match for a determined cyclist with strawberry preserves on the mind.

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