Virindi


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Last night, I entered Central Park at midnight. I chased exhaustion as hard as I could, crested a hill without getting close. Descending fast, no hands, no helmet, a stinging on my face. I wanted July back. I never imagined a month could swell so fat with promise. It was just a spin, I see now, just a fast and furious spin. Someday I will look back with bemusement and calm. I see that, too. But in the park, at midnight, I just wanted to forget, to catch up to numbness. So I pedaled.