December 4th

(To read this story from the beginning, click here.)

Two blocks and my pants are soaked through. Klink is sitting in the yellow milk crate I’ve attached to the back of my bike for groceries, her fur slick with rain, her long ears stuck to the back of her neck.

“We couldn’t take the bus?” she shouts.

This is my way—determined beyond the point of rationality.

“Of course not!” But I’m just as bitter, squinting hard as I splash down the street.

I approach an intersection on Tenth. A cab pulls up to the adjacent stop, then with minimal deceleration, pulls through, cutting me off.

I squeeze my brakes and fishtail to a stop, staring at the red lights roll down the hill.

Vring! Vring!

I ring my bell furiously.

Vring vring! Vring vring vring!


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