I hate you, shard. You're in my pad. You're in the front pad, which makes it so much worse. The road is damp, and so I picked you up, shard. I didn't want to do it. But that's what happens when it's wet, shard. What's a vintage cyclist to do? I gotta ride my vintage ride. And it felt like our only dry day for days and days. And so I get you stuck in my pad. You tell me about it almost immediately. But I gotta apply the brakes. And doing so, you scratch up my beautiful rim. And that sound you make! God, it's worse than nails on a chalkboard. You enjoy that, don't you? Back home, I try to pick you out using a razor blade. I thought I plucked you. But then I heard you again later when I went back out just trying to not hear you. Was that you or one of your buddies? You shards are all the same. Evil, shard. Like Pazuzu scratching his name in my rim. Next, I will try a Scotch-Brite pad. If that doesn't work, I will use a cross and the Bible. I will rid you, shard. God willing, I will damn you to a hell where only tiny pieces of road metal go to die forever and ever.