Up the hill

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Slick pavements,
Water dappled cars.
Air heavy as the blacked sky.
But, it’s not raining. Yet.
Snippets of swoosh, spish of
Six am traffic,
And Kings of Leon play
In a Cold Desert.
This time, I’m faster, further.
But the hill feels steeper.
Burning lungs, knee twinge,
and embarrassment,
As an old man cycles past me.
Slowly.

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