You roll through the traffic lights
just before the big uphill, and there's a couple of dudes rocking
lycra up ahead. You drop the hammer just as their thoughts turn to
suffering. As you hear them clicking down through their
cassette, seeking solace in a nice easy ring, blast by them like
a foul hot wind from the north.
Your legs will hurt but don't show
it. Keep your upper body still so it looks like you're
cruising.
As you crest the hill, resist the urge to turn
round and blow them a big sloppy kiss.
BONUS TIP: If you suffer such a shortage of humility, it will be punished: Later that day the lycra warriors will track you
down, knock you out of your swivel chair, pin you to the floor of the open plan office, close your spreadsheet without saving, then remove your skin
and ride off wearing it fluttering behind as a tattered red cape.
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