The air was warm and moist like a tepid bath that made it impossible for my sweat to evaporate so it became trapped in the fibers of my jersey until it reached its saturation point and hung loosely around my torso resembling that poorly sewn shirt that Denise made for Theo.
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The few, the proud, the likely insane, Metro-Atlanta bicycle commuters.
Last edited by bikebuddha; 07-18-05 at 10:25 AM.