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  • RPA


Riding by farmland just outside of Buda tonight, the sun set with the softest pomegranate glow. I took the tollway, blocked in by a sleepy caravan. I flashed my passing lights and tucked in tight, my revs screaming by and cutting across the white dotted lines. The wind winnowed up my sleeves and my shirttail snapped, whipping my back, popping like a torn flag. I stopped on the side of a road by a barbed wire fence, by rough country, just before starlight. White-tailed deer peeked and slinked out from their cover, hesitant to come out. They trotted out to the open, and quickly trotted back. Traffic sped by me over the hill, their headlights hiding faces, passing silhouettes in the night.

On my way home, a car in front of me bashed open a leaf bag that was left out in the middle of the road. I swerved, the swirling leaves hovering over me like a mummy coming back to life, reaching out for my bike.

Night ride. South Austin.



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